


Just Some Redneck Asshole

by GodsUngratefulArms



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Butimtrying, Canon Compliant, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Idontknowhowhashtagswork, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mutual Pining, Original Character(s), Slow Burn, mostly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:01:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 102
Words: 453,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26220811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GodsUngratefulArms/pseuds/GodsUngratefulArms
Summary: Who knew it would take the end of the world for Adrienne Blake to find hope?
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 392
Kudos: 137





	1. Somebody Like You

**Author's Note:**

> This is essentially a character insert that will follow the series from the beginning until whenever I decide to end it with minor canon divergences throughout. This is my first fanfic ever, please be kind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: sexual assault

**Prologue**

"Turn it down."

"Why?"

"Just turn it down!" I snap, softening when Chris just glares. "Please, I wanna hear this."

He sighs heavily and turns the stereo down a little, music still pumping out of the speakers fractionally lower in volume.

"Thanks," I mutter, snatching up the remote and turning the TV up.

"These are just _a few_ of the different ways local and state leaders across the US plan to combat the disease the CDC dubbed 'Wildfire' after it abruptly went global last week," Katie Herron, with her too white teeth and her too blue eyes, announces, peering out at us grimly from the confines of the TV screen. "As cases surge and hospital capacities dwindle, Atlanta PD is encouraging all residents to _stay_ _indoors_ and _stay safe._ We're in this together, Atlanta. Back to you, Scott."

"Thank you, Katie. Now, as my colleague mentioned, the Atlanta PD..."

"This is old," I announce.

"What'd you say, baby?" Chris murmurs, cranking the volume back up on the stereo, the driving bass beat buzzing through my body.

"This is an old story," I repeat, brows knit in confusion. "She said ' _ last week'. _ They're runnin' old stories."

"Must've heard her wrong," he suggests, trailing sloppy kisses up my arm and across my collarbone.

For a moment, I forget what the fuck I was talking about, lost in the sensation of his lips on my skin. Why? I don't even like him anymore. I don't think I liked him in the first place, did I? Oh, but his lips are lightning… Fucking coke. God damn it, focus. I drag my glassy, coke-blown eyes back to the TV. She said  _ last week _ , I know she did. We've seen this news story at least three times tonight, I'm sure of it. Wildfire went global a month ago, maybe longer. God, why is it so hot?  _ Fucking coke. _ Shit'll mess you up good. Still, I know what I heard. This isn't drugs talking.

"I didn't!" I insist, pushing him off of me and jumping to my feet, pacing the length of the room. "Why're they runnin' old stories?"

"Babe, you're bein' paranoid," Chris snaps. "What the hell would they do that for? So crazy bitches like you would call 'em up, losin' your mind?"

"I'm not crazy, I just know what I  _ heard, _ Chris," I seethe.

"You're crazy as they come," he says, eyes crawling over my body. "That's why I love you."

I feel a curl of pleasure ripple through me despite myself. He loves me. Of course he does. We don't need to fight over some dumb ass news story. I know I'm right, that's enough for me. I settle back onto the ratty orange sofa, giggling as Chris wraps his fingers around my waist possessively and drags me onto his lap.

"Just relax, baby," he soothes, flipping me around and placing my legs on either side of his body. "Let me take care of you. I always do, don't I? Don't I?"

"Yeah," I breathe, heart racing as those warm, brown puppy eyes bore into mine.

His eyes are the only pretty thing in this shit hole, even big and glassy and blown. It's those eyes that convinced me to move in with him almost five years ago, those eyes that tell me things are okay. That he wants me, and as long as he wants me I can stay, I don't have to be alone.

"Then don't worry about it."

"Okay."

So I won't worry about it. At least, I'll try to ignore the lingering doubt in the back of my mind telling me something isn't right. The knots in my gut. It's just the drugs. That's all it is. Shit'll mess you up good. His lips meet mine, his tongue invading my mouth in a way that, even high, doesn't feel like anything I especially want. But he wants me. He loves me, he said so. Don't worry. His thumbs dig into my hips and he grinds up into me.

"Take 'em off, baby," he commands, tugging at my belt loops.

"What about Ian?"

"He ain't gonna care."

" _ I  _ care."

"Don't be a tease, Adrienne."

"I'm not, I just-"

"If Ian gets his lazy ass outta the bathroom some time this week, he ain't gonna complain about you and me givin' him a little show."

This isn't the first time he's wanted to give his friends a show. He likes it when they watch, likes to show 'em who I belong to. I like it, too. Right? What's so bad about him being proud of me? Why does it make me queasy? He grips the hem of my shirt, tugging it up my sides.

"Chris, no," I protest, attempting to pull my shirt back down and climb off of him. "Not with him here, please, I... I just want it to be you this time."

He's not letting me go. He's got one hand snaking itself into my hair, pulling it tight, and the other… the other is unbuttoning my jeans.

"Chris," I plead. "Stop."

A searing pain erupts across my scalp as he violently wrenches my head back, a fist tangled in my hair.

"We can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way and you can leave when I'm done with you," he spits.

I freeze. What else can I do? I can't go out there, he knows that. I have money. I never told him that, but I have plenty to get by on. But with the sick people all over the place, I can't leave. Not now, certainly not tonight.

"You know I'm not teasin', right, baby?" He murmurs, his silky smooth voice a stark contrast to the iron fist in my hair, the hand forcing its way into my jeans.

I close my eyes and nod. He's never been mean like this before, not once, but I know this isn't a game. And I can't run.

"Good girl."

I make myself soft, pliant beneath his hands, and brace myself for the inevitable. Then he screams. My eyes fly open as something hot and sticky splatters onto my face. I think I've cracked. I've gone crazy for real, because what I'm seeing cannot possibly be happening.

"What the fuck did you take?" I demand, scrambling to my feet. "Ian!"

He  _ bit _ Chris. Tore a chunk out of his neck. Chris is sobbing,  _ screaming, _ and Ian… Jesus, he's  _ eating  _ him. Chris is bleeding out. There's nothing I can do for him. I tear into our bedroom and lock the door. Jesus Christ. What do I do? What do I do? Fuck, I don't know what to  _ do. _ Chris is dead. Ian has lost his fucking mind. I need to get out of here. I race across the room and fling open the closet, snatching Chris's backpack from the hook on the inside of the door. I need to leave.

Okay. Okay, I'll go to the bank tomorrow. Oh, shit, tomorrow's Sunday. Right? I don't fucking know. Fuck,  _ think.  _ I just need to find somewhere to be until I come down, until I can think clearly. Jesus, one step at a time. Okay. I snatch several shirts from their hangers, not even paying attention to which I'm grabbing, and shove them into the bag along with several pairs of jeans and leggings.

I can't take much with me, but it's not like I own a whole lot anyway. I scramble over to the dresser in the corner of the room. Chris had found it on the curb for free, the previous owner too lazy or maybe just unable to take the piece of shit to the dump. There's a crack in the mirror and one of the drawers sticks more often than not. I catch my reflection in the glass and stop for a moment. God, who is this girl? I take in my wide, terrified eyes. The wild hair, the sweat beading at the top of my forehead, on my upper lip. The blood. I'm covered in blood,  _ Chris's  _ blood.

I shake my head and look away. I can't worry about that now, I need to get out of here. I can change later, I just need to leave  _ now. _ Naturally, it's the broken drawer that holds my things and, of course, it sticks.

"Christ!" I hiss, desperately yanking at the drawer pull. "Oh, come  _ on! _ "

Chris's screams and cries stopped a few minutes ago, but now there's a new noise. Something's snarling, it's just outside the door. Jesus  _ fuck, _ what is that? I drop to my knees and crawl to the door, flattening myself to the floor to peek through the inch of space between the bottom of the door and the top of the muddy, brown carpet I think may have been white at one point. No. No, what the fuck? Ian's shoes, slicked with blood.  _ Ian's _ outside the door, the source of the noise.

He's growling, groaning, lurching forward and smacking into the door, but he's not trying to get in. He's just thumping against the door, staggering back, then forward, thumping right back into the door again. He's not even trying the knob. Something's  _ wrong _ with him. I leap to my feet, fly back to the dresser and, with what feels like more effort than it probably is, jerk the drawer open.

I grab fistfuls of socks, underwear, a few sports bras I never wear anymore 'cause Chris doesn't like them, and my wallet. I'm sure everything's expired, my ID at least, but those are later problems. I zip the backpack shut and sling it over my shoulders, padding over to the end of the bed, where Chris left his combat boots this afternoon. The only shoes I own at this point are heels -which, admittedly, I do sort of like, but won't serve me well if I have to walk any significant distance- and a ratty old pair of running shoes.

The running shoes are in the living room, I'd have to pass Ian to get to those, so, thanking whoever the fuck is listening that Chris has abnormally small feet, or maybe I just have big ones, I shove my feet into the boots and lace them up tight. Sparing one last glance around the room, I throw the window open, break out the screen, and climb out into the night. The fire escape creaks and groans under my weight as I make my way down to the ground, cursing the blistering Atlanta heat that, despite it being dark, is nothing short of brutal.

I drop into the alley and inch my way towards the street, glancing warily into the shadows. I can hear my thundering heart beat pounding incessantly against my eardrums, agonizingly loud, drowning out any other sounds. I can't hear anything else, but the  _ smell… _ Christ, what the fuck is that? Sickly sweet almost, but there's an underlying odor, like… like rotting meat. Death. I freeze in my tracks. I've got to get a fucking grip. I close my eyes, willing my freight train heart to slow. Calm. I have to stay calm.

As my heart reaches a normal rhythm, I become aware of other sounds. Car horns blaring, a whole fucking lot of 'em. People are screaming, sirens are wailing, blades of invisible helicopters whirring. What the hell's going on? I creep along the alley, hugging the wall, and when I emerge…

"Jesus."

The streets are jam-packed. People, some running, some staggering and  _ off, _ like they're hurt or something. There are cops and army everywhere, sandbags lining the streets, barricades blocking traffic, red and blue lights flashing in time with the ungodly howling of the sirens. The police… they're killing people, shooting down  _ civilians. _ The whirring blades swell and I glance skyward in time to see three or four large, silver canisters fall from the open belly of one of the helicopters. My god. They're bombing the city.

The ground shakes beneath my feet, and it's like the explosion knocked me back into my body, like I hadn't truly been in my skin until the plumes of smoke and fire rose into the air. People are burning, they're shrieking,  _ dying, _ and I have to run. So I do. I stick to the shadows, pushing myself as hard as I can, legs pumping in time with the frantic beating of my heart, and I don't even know where the hell I'm going, I just know I have to get the hell out of this city. So I keep moving, even when my lungs start to scream and my legs start to protest.

I'm out of practice and each pounding of my feet against the pavement sends a little shockwave of pain skittering up through my legs, but still I run. I don't look back, I don't slow for anything. I reach the edge of the city, hurtle across the train tracks, scramble up the fence, and hurl myself over to the other side. Maybe it's instinct, I don't know, but I'm certain I'm moving in the right direction. I need high ground, trees, I need to _hide._ My legs carry me across the hard, uneven ground parallel to the interstate.

I'm so focused, I'm hardly aware of the cars, trucks, RVs, the  _ people, _ packed damn near bumper to bumper on I-85. If I remember right, there's a quarry up in the foothills. Dense thickets of trees, steep cliff sides… high ground, water,  _ cover. _ That's where I'm gonna go. Later I might find it funny, this sudden survival instinct rearing its head after five years of passive suicidality, five years of not giving a fuck whether I live or die. Right now, though, I'm gonna let it carry me. I'm not gonna think. I'm just gonna run.

I run for miles, not slowing even when I reach the switchbacks I remember from last time I was up here, when mama got it in her head we were gonna learn to fish. We didn't know the first goddamned thing about fishing, but, by God, she was gonna catch  _ something.  _ She didn't. Actually, she lost  _ both _ poles about 20 minutes into the time we spent on the lake, but we had fun anyway. Tears well in my eyes, blurring my vision, and before I can process what the hell happened, I'm on the ground.

I tripped. Maybe over a rock, maybe over my own two feet, all I really know is I'm on the goddamn ground and my mom is dead and I'm alone and those wails, those horrid, shuddering sobs, are coming from  _ me _ and I'm so fucking _ tired _ of running. So I stop. I stay on the ground and cry into the dirt. I deserve this.

I deserve this, I deserve this, _I deserve_ _this…_

"Ma'am?"

_ Go away. _

I don't know how long I've been lying here. I may have fallen asleep, but I don't think so. Still, I can't pinpoint when dawn started to bleed into the night or when the man crouching beside me showed up, and I don't remember hearing the approach of the two cars now idling in the road.

"Ma'am, are you all right?"

"I fell," I croak.

"I can see that," the man chuckles. "Can you move?"

That's a good fucking question. I flatten my palms to the ground and push myself up onto my knees, squinting into the blue light of early morning.

"Woah, easy now," the man murmurs. "That's it."

I thought I'd cried myself dry. I was, evidently, mistaken. Hot, fat tears roll down both my cheeks.

"Hey," the man soothes, thumbing the tears away. "Hey, you're safe, honey. My name's Shane Walsh, I'm a deputy from the King County Sheriff's Department."

"Adrienne Blake," I blurt, mostly out of habit.

"Okay, Adrienne," Shane nods, eyeing the dark stains on my shirt. "You hurt?"

"No," I breathe, guilt welling in my guts. "It's not… it's not my blood."

He's silent, eyeing me consideringly. He nods to himself, then offers me a hand.

"We're headin' to the quarry," he informs me. "We could use another set of hands. You wanna come with us?"

I glance at the cars, the faces peering out at me. A black Jeep, presumably Shane's, with a woman a bit older than me in the passenger seat and a little boy in the back. The woman offers me a warm smile, which I can't find in me to return. The boy is regarding me curiously. In the car behind them, a beat up old Cherokee, are three more people. A little girl, about the same age as the boy in the Jeep, staring at me from the back seat. A man, lip curling in disgust as he eyes me, and his wife, who isn't looking at me at all.

I allow Shane to take my hands in his and he pulls me to my feet. What choice do I have? I can either go with these people or I can lay in the dirt and die of dehydration. So I let Shane help me into the back of his Jeep, gratefully accepting the bottle of water he passes my way before starting the car and continuing the ascent up the mountain.

"I'm Lori Grimes," the woman in the front seat introduces. "This is my son, Carl."

Grimes? I'd expected Mrs. Walsh, but I guess not.

"Adrienne Blake," I mutter, sinking low into the seat.

"Where'd you come from?" Shane questions. "You're a long way from the refugee center."

"Atlanta."

"Oh, you poor thing," Lori breathes, stricken, exchanging a shocked glance with Shane. "We never made it into the city, but we… we saw the bombs."

I didn't know there  _ was _ a refugee center. This is the first time I've been outside in… God, it must be months now. I must look about as clueless as I feel, because the questions stop.

"We're glad you're with us," Shane announces. "Makin' it outta that city on your own? We could use somebody like you."

Somebody like me. Right.

**Chapter 1**

*Daryl's POV*

"Shit, would you look at that, little brother?" Merle whistles, eyeing Andrea's ass as the blonde huffily bends down to retrieve a shirt she's dropped, releasing a long suffering sigh as though she ain't the one who dropped that shit in the first damn place.

One might think she'd be a little more careful, considering she and some of the other women had just finished washing the clothes in the quarry. Ain't no use hanging shit out to dry after dropping it in the dirt. But she don't give a fuck. Actually, she's probably banking on the possibility that if she fucks up  _ enough, _ Shane'll take her off laundry duty all together, send her on runs with Glenn. Not being remotely interested in anyone's ass, Andrea's or otherwise, I get to my feet.

"Where you goin'?" Merle questions.

"Huntin'," I reply, slinging my bow over my shoulder. "Wanna use the time we got left 'fore the run."

"You ain't goin’ on no run, brother. Leave that to the real men," he chuckles, as per usual, at my expense. "Go get you some squirrels,  _ Darylina. _ Maybe uh, maybe they can help you find your nutsack, hm?"

I ain't gonna bother giving him a reaction. Usually the best way with Merle. He'll bust my balls to get a rise outta me, but if I look like I'm even thinking about talking back, it gets ugly pretty damn quick. Nah, better to just ignore the asshole and go do my own shit. Ain't gonna fight him. I head for the trees without another word. I ain't even sure why we're still here with these fucking people.

Merle said some dumb bullshit about making the group trust us. That they need to get comfortable before we can make our move. Let their guard down. The initial plan was to wait until dark the first night, take that asshole, Shane, out, take their shit and bail. It don't really sit right with me, but Merle knows. He knows what we need to do to survive, always has. And we need their guns. My thoughts are interrupted when something hits me, literally.

"Oh  _ shit, _ sorry!" Adrienne blurts, pushing her crimson curls from her face. "I didn't see you."

One of the women in the camp, their other runner. Her and Glenn usually do runs on their own, today's the first time they're taking a group. Glenn ain't too happy, but more hands bring back more shit and they need all the shit they can get. I can't figure out what Adrienne's doing here, she don't seem to be anyone's family. Just some chick they picked up somewhere. Thought she was Shane's girl til I realized him and Lori are together.

Well. Maybe they ain't together, but they're definitely sneaking off to fuck in the woods. I wish I didn't know that, but I do. Intimately. I ain't been able to look at Lori since coming across her on all fours, Shane right behind her, the two of 'em having a quickie while Lori's kid was god knows where. I wasn't looking for it, I swear I wasn't, but Shane's been glaring at me like I'm some kinda pervert ever since, like I  _ wanted _ to see the two of 'em in the dirt like goddamn animals. I ain't told nobody, not even Merle.

"Watch where the hell you're goin'!" I bark, shouldering past Adrienne.

As I make my way into the trees, I can hear Merle saying something to her in that oily fuckin' snake charmer voice he puts on sometimes for the pretty ones. Probably some half assed apology on my behalf. Not because he gives a shit, though. Nah, he'll feed her some bullshit about me being no good, the lesser of the Dixon brothers, no matter how hard he tried, he never could get manners outta me. Tell her not to get her feelings hurt, whatever. Then he'll try to screw her brains out. That's just Merle. I try to ignore the image of the redhead on her knees, Merle behind her. Try to push away the sick welling in my guts at the thought.

*Adrienne's POV*

"Watch where the hell you're goin'!" Daryl snaps, pushing past me and disappearing into the woods.

He doesn't faze me much at this point. He's always pissed at something, all hard lines and flashing eyes. Him and his shithead brother, Merle, have been here almost three weeks. Merle's angry all the time, too, but it seems to me the elder Dixon's mostly made peace with that. Or maybe it just seems so 'cause he's high a lot of the time. He relishes in the fight, though, pushing buttons every damn chance he gets, which are many. There's rage in him, just below that oh so cool exterior, always simmering, ready to snap at any moment, the second he's given a reason. He likes to pretend like he's free and easy, but it's a bluff. He's always on edge, always waiting for his moment, his excuse.

Daryl's different. He's angry, too, but, unlike his brother, he wears the fury on his sleeve, a shield of sorts, and he's not just pissed at the world. I think he's pissed at himself, and maybe he's pissed at Merle, too, despite being so damn dependent on him. The brothers Dixon are about as fucking dysfunctional as they come. The cover photo for codependency. I would know. Merle keeps Daryl in line, insults him,  _ constantly _ cuts him down, pretends like he doesn't need him, but he does. And Daryl… Daryl worships the ground his brother walks on. Makes me wonder what the hell happened to them. If they had a daddy like mine.

"Don't pay him no mind, sweetheart," Merle grins, sauntering over to me and slinging an arm around my shoulders. "My baby brother just don't know what to do with himself around a beautiful woman, s'all it is, mhmm."

"Oh, I'm not," I say simply, shrugging out from under him and heading towards the rest of the group.

I know damn well it's a lie. Daryl Dixon fascinates me, and I find that I pay him a lot more mind than is actually necessary, but no one else needs to know that. Least of all  _ Merle. _ I collapse heavily on the steps of the Winnebago as everyone gathers around Shane to hear what his agenda for the rest of the day is. Morning huddles. Gotta love 'em. Product of high school jocks gone cop, no doubt. Shane still wears his jersey number on a chain around his neck. 22. Says it's his lucky number. Just can't let go of the glory days, I suppose.

"All right," he claps his hands, rubbing his palms vigorously together and gazing at the group surrounding him. "Here's the plan, folks. Listen up. Glenn and Adie are makin' a run, we're low on supplies. I'm gonna need T-dog, Morales, Jacqui, Merle, and Andrea to head out there with 'em," he locks eyes with each of us in turn. "Glenn's in charge, he's our best runner, knows the city inside out. Follow his lead. This is important," he says sternly. "Food is your priority, anything else comes second."

Something about Shane bothers me. A lot of things about Shane bother me, actually. I know I should appreciate him more than I do, considering he plucked me off the side of the road and brought me in, but I feel like every good deed out of him comes with a price tag attached. Still, he stepped up. I can't deny he's got the leadership skills required to spearhead our camp. And I wouldn't have made it on my own, not for long. I owe him my life.

Shane finishes his daily go team speech and we all get started on our assignments. I'm not particularly thrilled to be heading into a death trap with Andrea. The woman can't shoot to save her damn life. Or anyone else's, for that matter. Everyone else heading out with us I know is at least a half assedly decent shot. Merle, in particular, is a fantastic shot. Both Dixon brothers are hunters and Merle had served in the Army. They can shoot. Still, usually it's just me and Glenn. He's pissed we're taking a group out, but we need the hands. Just me and him can't bring back enough supplies for the whole camp, not as big as it is now.

So we arm ourselves, take a couple canteens from Shane, and start the long, hot trek down to Atlanta. Best not to waste fuel when we don't need to. Glenn talks strategy the whole way down. Our resident boy genius delivered pizzas before this shit went down, just some city kid from Michigan, away from his parents for the first time, trying to pay for college, but the dude has contingency plans for his contingency plans. Being a former pizza guy, he also happens to know downtown Atlanta inside out and backwards, which comes in handy. God, I miss pizza. We're all sweating pretty good once we reach the edge of the city but, on the bright side, we hadn't seen any walkers along the way. Making camp at the quarry was a good move. The dead roam the city in droves, but up in the foothills near the water? Nothing.

"Alright, Chinaman, where's this department store that's got you all hot and bothered?" Merle questions, thrusting his hips lewdly. "Hm?"

"I'm Korean," Glenn retorts hotly. 

"Hey, it's all the same to me," Merle fires back. 

"Shut the fuck up, Merle," I hiss.

This trip is doomed already if we head down this path of conversation.

"Now that ain't no way for such a pretty little mouth to be talkin', Ginger," Merle drawls with a smirk, eyes bright.

"Eat shit, honey nips," I simper.

Merle roars with laughter, genuinely enjoying himself. I told him several nights ago, if he's not gonna use my proper name, I'm not using his, either. His pet names have become increasingly lewd and mine increasingly ridiculous. He'd given up last night upon being referred to as  _ 'plum snout'. _ I don't even know, don't ask.

"Are we here for supplies or are we here for these two to play grab ass in the street?" Andrea demands.

"Aw, you jealous, sugar tits?" Merle chuckles. "You know, there's plenty of ol' Merle to go 'round."

Ignoring them both, I turn to Glenn. 

"After you, Captain," I say, gesturing gallantly with my hand. 

"Okay," Glenn says, steeling himself. "Let's go."

We make it to the department store without incident, managing to avoid the masses of reanimated corpses shambling through the streets. No matter how many I see, how many I put down, it never stops being so surreal to me. Like we're living in the goddamn twilight zone. I haven't quite been able to wrap my brain around this being reality, yet. At Glenn's suggestion, we separate into two groups to cover more ground in less time. Glenn, Jacqui, Andrea, and Morales head upstairs while Merle, T-Dog, and myself start on the ground floor. We'll meet in the middle. We only have two walkies, so Glenn took one and T-Dog took the other. Merle seems to be on mostly good behavior at this point, but that means nothing. This could just be the calm before the shit storm. He's got his good points, sure, but he's still an asshole. I feel like Shane only assigned him on this run 'cause he doesn't feel like handling the hothead redneck himself, preferring to let others babysit.

"Alright," I huff. "T, see if you can find anything useful in housewares. Merle, check out that back room over there. Looks like a break room. That means employee lockers and maybe food," I direct, putting T-Dog and Merle as far from each other as the space will allow. "We should hit the bathrooms, too, take back some toilet paper. Amy says we're almost out."

Merle's a racist, backwoods son of a bitch and likes to poke at  _ 'colored folk' _ -which is what he calls them only on the occasions he feels like being polite- when he's bored. The only other white person here outside Merle and myself is Andrea. No matter who Glenn assigned where, Merle's mouth would've been a problem. Honestly, this trip would probably go smoother if T-Dog and Andrea's places were swapped, or if we'd split into pairs. I don't mind being alone with him. Merle's a lot of things, but he's not a rapist.

"You know, I uh, I don't usually take too kindly to takin' orders," Merle begins, chuckling. "But you're just so damn pretty. Gets me all fired up!"

"Shut the fuck up, Merle."

"Say please 'n I'll do whatever you want, sweet pea."

"I want you to shut the fuck up."

This just amuses him further, so I lope off towards the checkouts. If nothing else, there'll be shitty, impulse buy Slim Jim's and jerky and maybe even a few water bottles left. Nothing that would qualify as especially nutritious, but some calories are better than no calories and Carl loves this shit. If I'm being honest, I never was one to turn up my nose at jerky, either. Delicious, delicious sodium. After loading my bag with junk food, I check under the register. Behind several rolls of receipt tape and a cardboard box of plastic bags is a first aid kit. It's in almost pristine condition, missing little more than a couple bandaids. Guess retail really isn't all that dangerous. I dump the contents into my pack and zip it back up before getting to my feet and making my way towards home goods to see how T-Dog's faring. Before I can get to him, though, I'm frozen in place at the unmistakable sound of gunfire. A lot of it. It's close, and I can't tell for certain if it's in here or outside.

"Shit," I hiss, drawing my gun and breaking into a sprint as T-Dog comes barreling out of an aisle.

"Did you fire?" He asks, eyes darting to the weapon in my hands.

"No."

We fall into step beside each other, moving quickly towards the exit. Merle's already here, leaning lazily against the wall, not a care in the fucking world. He was built for this shit.

"You uh, you at target practice in here, princess?" He asks, eyes sparkling at the possibility of a fight.

"No, jackass," I hiss. "Come on, we need to find Glenn and the others."

I shoulder past him, the men behind me following my lead as I sprint through the lobby and into the stairwell, where we just about run headlong into Glenn, who is tearing down the stairs, walkie in hand.

"Get to the roof!" He orders.

I don't have time to question him, so I take the stairs two at a time, hauling ass to the roof. I can hear T-Dog and Merle's heavy, labored breaths behind me as we burst out the roof access door, and silently thank Coach Simms for the thousands of sprints up and down the bleachers, all the way to the top and back down again, over and over, to build stamina.

_ Pick up your feet, Blake! Hustle! _

God, she'd been relentless, pushed me to my limits and then some. But she saw something in me. I still hate myself a little bit for disappointing her. I'd been looking at an athletic scholarship, women's soccer, until I fucked it all up and Duke kissed my ass goodbye.  _ Regrettably, _ the letter had said. Raising my binoculars to my eyes, I sprint to the half wall at the edge of the rooftop, searching the street below for the source of the gunfire. The streets surrounding the building we're currently standing on top of are crawling with walkers. A horse is whinnying frantically, rearing up in terror, but it's a lost cause. Tears well in my eyes, blurring my vision as the animal goes down, belly torn open, entrails spilling out for the feasting dead. I wipe my eyes angrily with the back of my hand and raise the binoculars once more. The horse had been without a rider. So Glenn had run out of the building to help the poor bastard who belongs to the empty saddle. Stupid. No way a single person got through that hellscape alive. But wait... 

I'll be damned. Some guy in a sheriff's uniform has just disappeared into an abandoned tank on the street near the department store. Walking the perimeter of the roof, I spot Glenn standing in an alley below, talking into the walkie. Son of a bitch, there must be a working radio in the tank. He's gonna try and save the asshole who riled up the walkers. I focus my gaze back on the tank as the hatch opens and the man emerges, dispatching the walker just outside the hatch and making a run for the alley. Jesus. Well, he's a damn good shot. He might make it.

I keep my eyes on the Sheriff, watching as he hurtles right into Glenn. Glenn holds his hands up, whirling around and tearing towards a fire escape on a neighboring building. He climbs up to the second floor platform, the cop a few rungs behind, as the group of walkers on the ground begins to rattle the ladder. Glenn and his new buddy scale the ladder on the side of the building. Breathing a sigh of relief, I let the binoculars rest hanging around my neck and tear towards the roof access door, most of the others on my heels. We get to the ground floor, Morales and T-Dog bursting out the emergency exit and taking down a couple walkers as Glenn and that trigger happy dipshit he saw fit to save hurtle inside, having scaled one of the shorter buildings abutting the store, going up and over and meeting us in the alley behind the building.

"Morales!" I bark, motioning frantically for him and T-Dog to get their asses back inside.

They back their way into the building, slamming the doors shut behind them. No sooner than the doors close does Andrea whip her gun out, running towards the Sheriff.

"Son of a bitch, we oughta kill you!" She snarls.

I snort, causing Andrea's angry gaze to land on me for a fraction of a second before flickering back to the cop. That's rich. Andrea couldn't hit a target for shit, particularly not when said target can move and shoot back. Never mind the fact she's still got the fucking  _ safety _ on.

"Just chill out, Andrea!" Morales chides.

"Come on, ease up," Jacqui soothes.

"Ease up?" Andrea demands. "You're kidding me, right? We're dead because of this stupid asshole!"

I can't help but agree. We're surrounded and I'm not sure we're gonna get out of this. I should probably be a little more upset. The truth is, I don't so much mind  _ me _ dying. I just don't wanna watch my friends die, too.

"Andrea!" Morales scolds. "I said back the hell off!"

Ah, Morales. Ever the peacemaker. Andrea holds her stance, breathing heavily and glaring at the cop.

"Or pull the trigger," Morales says calmly.

After a moment she seems to realize the futility of the situation, that killing the sorry asshole won't do jack shit for us, and she lowers her weapon with the air of a pouting toddler not getting her way. I'm a little disappointed. I'd've liked to see her play that out. If nothing else, it would've been pretty damn amusing to see her puzzle over why nothing happened when she pulled the trigger.

"We're dead," she states tearfully, shaking her head. "All of us. Because of you."

"I don't understand," the man says, looking from one face to another and back again.

This pisses Morales off, prompting him to lecture our new friend on scavenging. Explaining to him what he's just done, what he's cost us. The man looks so damn innocent and confused, I actually feel a little sorry for him at this point. He has no idea. The group is moving towards the glass storefront, Morales shoving the cop forward to take a look at the mess he's caused. Walkers are pushing against the doors, jaws gnawing against glass as they try desperately to move in on us. 

"Every geek from miles around heard you pumpin' off rounds!" T-Dog hisses.

"You just rang the dinner bell," Andrea adds.

"Get the picture now?" Morales demands.

The Sheriff just stares in horror as the glass on the outer set of doors begins to crack beneath the sea of decaying hands, under the weight of the horde of walkers hell bent on getting inside and chomping on our flesh.

"Let's go," I suggest.

We head away from the doors in search of a place to regroup and figure out our next move.

"What the hell were you doing out there anyway?" Andrea questions.

"Trying to flag the helicopter."

Oh, great. He's a fucking nutcase. A helicopter would have to be military, and they were overrun a month ago.

"Helicopter?" T-Dog asks derisively. "That's crap, man, there ain't no damn helicopter!"

"You were chasing a hallucination. Imaginin' things, it happens," Jacqui says.

"I saw it!" Sheriff says adamantly.

"Hey T-Dog, try that CB. Can you contact the others?" Morales asks.

"Others? The refugee center?" Sheriff asks, desperately trying to gain some kind of understanding.

"Yeah, the refugee center," Jacqui spits sarcastically. "They got biscuits waitin' in the oven for us."

"No signal," T-Dog announces.

"What about the roof?" I ask, just as a gunshot goes off overhead.

"Oh no, is that Dixon?" Andrea asks, looking up.

Christ. Merle. Of fucking course.


	2. Dollar Bills and Little White Lines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: implied molestation, childhood trauma, flashbacks

**Chapter 2**

We make our way back up to the roof, gunshots going off at a measured pace. God damn it, Merle. Trigger finger always itching, ain't it? We file onto the roof, Morales walking ahead as we spot the elder Dixon brother firing a rifle into the horde below.

"Are you crazy?" Morales yells.

Merle just laughs, gunning down another walker.

"Hey, hey, hey," he says, turning. "You oughta be more polite to a man with a gun!"

He hops down from the ledge, leisurely striding towards us. That walk is one thing the Dixons have in common. Both brothers have an easy swagger about them.

"Huh? Only common sense," Merle continues.

"Common sense? You wastin' bullets we ain't even got, man!" T-Dog exclaims, hopping over a large metal pipe. "You gon' bring 'em all down on us!"

"Hey, bad enough I got this taco bender on my ass all day!" Merle shouts, no longer laughing. "Now I'm gonna take orders from you? I don't think so, bro. That'll be the day."

"That'll be the day?" T-Dog demands, the two men drawing closer to each other. "You got somethin' you wanna tell me?"

"Hey T-Dog, man, just leave it," Morales cuts in. "Alright?"

"No!" T-Dog cries.

"It ain't worth it," Morales warns. "Now Merle, just relax. We got enough trouble."

But Merle's engaged now, shit eating grin on his face as his muscles tense eagerly, preparing for a fight.

"Merle," I warn, willing him for once to just let shit go.

He doesn't even look at me, instead stepping up to T-Dog.

"You wanna know the day?" He asks calmly.

"Yeah!" T-Dog nods, already knowing exactly where this is going but needing to hear it out loud.

"I'll tell you the day,  _ Mr. Yo, _ " Merle says, flashing some kind of dumb ass pseudo gang sign. "It'll be the day that I take orders from a nigger."

"Jesus, Merle!" I holler as T-Dog lets out an enraged howl, moving in to punch him.

But Merle is quick, flipping the gun in his hands around and hitting T-Dog in the head with the butt of the rifle. Sheriff attempts to jump into the fray, mediate, but once again Merle is too quick. Sheriff takes a blow to the head and Merle continues to beat the shit out of T-Dog. I don't know what the fuck possesses me, concern for T or just a healthy dose of stupidity, but I lurch forward, crouching down next to T-Dog and catching one of Merle's fists in my hand.

"Merle, stop!" I shout, just as his other fist collides with my face.

Son of a bitch. I feel myself hit the ground, then I'm enveloped into darkness, knocked out cold. I don't know how long I'm out, but when I resurface, I'm moving. One arm is around Morales, the other around Jacqui. Everyone is yelling. I feel like I'm in a wind tunnel.

"Come on, baby, we gotta move!" Jacqui's shouting.

"She's still out of it!" Morales cries. "C'mon, help me carry her!"

I'm suddenly in the air, hurtling towards the roof access door, and someone is screaming. Someone… I turn my head, squinting over my shoulder. Merle Dixon is handcuffed to a pipe, the rest of the group running towards the stairs while he writhes around, screaming for mercy. We can't leave him, I want to shout, but I'm slipping, slipping…

The sound of a car alarm stabs my eardrums, jarring me back into a state of near consciousness. Merle! We can't leave him. Panic clutches at my heart. This isn't right. My god, he'll die. He'll  _ die. _ My ears are ringing, dizziness overtaking me. I'm vaguely aware of T-Dog rushing back to Merle, but that's the last thing I see before my eyes shut and the blackness takes me away once more.

-

We're moving. Someone's holding my head, smoothing my hair. I haven't felt a touch this gentle since…

"Mama?" I croak, my eyelashes fluttering.

"Shh, baby. It's okay," a voice soothes. "Rest now, I got you."

Jacqui. It's Jacqui. I slip back into the dark.

-

_ "Adie, who did this to you?" Mama breathes, her cold fingertips gingerly tracing the bruises on my legs. _

_ I'm 11 years old. _

_ She'd come into my bedroom before I was dressed. I'm not ready, she had no right to come in here! I'm scared. Ashamed. I ruined everything. Daddy's gonna hate me. I don't know what to do, so I just start to cry. Mama looks so angry. Daddy said she wouldn't understand, that she'd be jealous. That she'd take me away from him. _

_ "Adrienne Penelope!" She hisses, holding my face in her hands, forcing my hazel eyes to meet her identical gaze. "What happened?" _

_ "He… he didn't mean to mama," I whimper. "It was an accident!" _

_ Mama's eyes turn to fire. I think she's gonna yell at me, but her face softens, crumbles. She holds me close, tells me I haven't done anything wrong. But I feel like I did. I know I'm gonna be in so much trouble when Daddy comes home. _

***

But he never did. Mama packed up all our things and we left before supper. She promised me McDonald's for dinner, and I was  _ never _ allowed to have McDonald's, ever, but I didn't want a happy meal. I wanted my daddy. I didn't understand. I didn't mean to make her so angry with him. She took me away, just like Daddy said she would.

We got the nicest apartment in Atlanta money could buy and mama worked. She didn't have to, we were loaded, but she worked anyway. She got me in to see a child psychiatrist so I could begin repairing the damage my father had done, so I could begin to heal. Dr. Remington. She'd told me to call her Sylvia and promised me that anything I told her would be safe. She told me that everything I felt was okay, even when I told her I hated my mama. That I wanted to see my Daddy, that I missed Virginia. Sylvia was the reason my mama and me went out to what felt like every god damn yard sale in the county that summer and bought my first guitar. I'd taught myself to play, Sylvia encouraging me to  _ 'use music as a medium.'  _ Let the strings scream my anguish, let the sorrow tear itself from my throat and sing my pain. And I did. The only healthy way I knew how to sift through my emotions was to put all the shit I didn't know how to say into a song. At least, until I discovered the way I felt when I was running.

My mama never let me see her cry again, she just worked. She worked and I went to therapy. By the time I'd turned 15 years old, she'd become a VIP at a marketing firm in Atlanta, and I'd quit therapy. It was working, but I was angry and I wanted to  _ stay _ angry. So I stopped going. I played every sport I could, tried out for every goddamn team my school had available, turning my body itself into a weapon, just so I had an excuse to hit things. When I wasn't playing sports, I was playing music until my fingers bled. I learned to like Atlanta. It never felt like home, but I was safe there.

Then I was 17, and I was so close to freedom, I could taste it. I was gonna go to Duke, I was gonna play soccer and get a degree in  _ anything _ other than philosophy, and I was gonna be  _ happy. _ That's what I thought. That's how naive I was. Then I met a man like my daddy. And I believed him when he told me I was gonna be a star one day. That I was so  _ mature, _ that he couldn't connect to women twice my age because they just weren't like me. He made me feel smart and sexy and he treated me like an  _ adult, _ and when he introduced me to dollar bills and little white lines, how could I say no? How could I say no when I was flying?

-

We're halfway back to the quarry when I come to. My ears are still ringing. I sit up slowly, with Jacqui's assistance.

"Slow, baby," she whispers. "Slow."

I look around, realizing we're in the back of some kind of moving truck. A small U-haul maybe? I do a quick inventory of the faces in the trailer with me. Jacqui, Andrea, T-Dog. Morales and Sheriff are up front. Everyone's quiet. My gaze settles on T-Dog as I remember in broken fragments what had occurred on the rooftop in Atlanta. He averts his eyes, refusing to look at me, and three things hit me at once. One, my head is throbbing like a motherfucker. Two, the heinous ringing in my ears is actually a car alarm blaring continuously, the noise driving into my skull like an ice pick. And three, we're missing people.

"What happened?" I croak.

They fill me in, whispered stories like confessions. To get out of the city, our new Sheriff friend had hacked up the body of a walker. Gutted it like an animal. He and Glenn had covered themselves in the guts and moved right through the sea of death to get us a vehicle. Smart. Fucked up, but smart. Glenn is up ahead, the source of the shrieking alarm. He'd served as a distraction, drawing the walkers away while Sheriff got the rest of us out safely. Merle lost control. Merle compromised the safety of everyone here. Merle hit me, knocked me out. I knew that. Merle had been cuffed to the roof and left behind. I feel sick.

Glenn makes it back to camp a few minutes ahead of us, the horrid wail of the car finally ceasing just before the rest of us pull in behind T-Dog's church van. I pull myself to my feet, moving to follow Andrea out of the trailer before T stops me.

"Woah, woah, woah," he says, rushing to my side. "Let me help you. You hit your head when you went down. Probably got a concussion."

As if to corroborate his theory, there's a sharp throb at the back of my skull. T jumps out of the cube van first, turning as I lower myself to the floor. He takes my hands and helps me down, staring guiltily at my battered eye. He keeps his arm around me until I'm settled in a camp chair, hovering nearby like he's afraid I'm gonna pass out the moment his back is turned.

"You are a welcome sight," Dale greets us happily, laughing and pulling Morales into a hug. "I thought we had lost you folks for sure."

"How'd y'all get outta there anyway?" Shane questions, shining a flashlight into each of my eyes.

"New guy," Glenn tells him. "He got us out."

"New guy?" Shane repeats.

"Yeah," Morales confirms. "Crazy vato just got into town."

"Shot up the streets, sprayin' bullets like a goddamn idiot," I mutter.

"Hey, helicopter boy!" Morales shouts over his shoulder, chuckling. "Come say hello. Guy's a cop, like you."

I watch as Shane's expression morphs, a gentle curiosity to something more akin to shock. He looks horrified, like he's seen a ghost.

"Oh, my god," the Sheriff murmurs, striding towards Lori's little boy, Carl.

Carl looks over, his face lighting up as he breaks into a run, his mother right behind him.

"Dad!" Carl shouts, bursting into tears.

The man collapses to the ground, sobbing like a child, clutching Carl to his chest. I'll be damned. So this is Rick Grimes. Lori's dead husband looks pretty fucking alive to me. Planting a kiss on his son's cheek, he strides towards Lori. And I watch, silently observing the reunion. Lori, a deer caught in the headlights as her husband walks towards her. She pulls him into a hug, clinging to him. Over the shoulder of a man who had just returned from the dead, she catches Shane's eye. Well, well, well. Looks like these assholes have some explaining to do.

I shake my head, immediately regretting the motion when it throbs painfully, and get to my feet. Not one to just sit when there's work that needs doing, I wander over to the truck and pull the remaining bags out of the trailer. Someone has to keep shit in order around here, take stock of what we have, make a list of what we still need. I set to work, sorting the pitiful amount of supplies we'd managed to scavenge on the botched run and placing them with like items in their designated spots. The sun's setting rapidly and Daryl isn't back from his hunt yet. I'm anxious, consumed with guilt. Merle was an ass, absolutely, but we sentenced a man to death today.

-

"Disoriented," Rick says, thunder rumbling in the distance. "I guess that comes closest. Disoriented. Fear, confusion, all those things, but… disoriented comes closest."

"Words can be meager things," Dale mutters. "Sometimes they fall short."

We're all gathered around the campfire. Rick, still holding tight to Lori and Carl, is telling the group how he'd woken from a coma in the hospital a couple days ago. He'd been shot in the line of duty long before this thing started. Explains why he was so clueless when he went charging into Atlanta, spraying bullets like fuckin' Rambo. Lori is talking. Making up excuses. I'm only half listening, my thoughts still circling around the Merle issue. We have to go back and get him. If he's even still alive. I tune back in when I hear Rick speaking again.

"I can't tell you how grateful I am to you, Shane. I can't begin to express it."

I can't help it. I snort. Are you fucking kidding me? Shane left his best friend to die. Not only that, he and Lori have been sneaking off to bang it out every chance they get for weeks now. Before I can voice my thoughts on this bullshit, Dale catches my eye and cuts in.

"There go those words falling short again," he chuckles. "Paltry things."

At that, we all fall silent. Until Ed, being the entitled prick he is, makes an attempt to build up his fire. Rising from his camp chair, he casually tosses a miniature log into the small fire his wife, Carol, had built. Away from the rest of the camp so their family could remain apart, at Ed's request I'm sure.

"Hey Ed, you wanna rethink that log?" Shane questions.

"It's cold, man."

Yeah, no shit. Even bundled up in T's hoodie, sandwiched between him and Glenn, I'm freezing my ass off. Still, it's not nearly as cold as it will be if we all get slaughtered by the horde of walkers a larger fire would attract. Doesn't get much colder than dead.

"Cold don't change the rules, does it?" Shane asks. "Keep our fires low, just embers, so we can't be seen from a distance, right?"

"I said it's cold. You should mind your own business for once."

Woah, look at Ed, taking a stand against someone his own size. He must be feeling real ballsy tonight, he doesn't usually pick fights with people who can -and will- fight back. Shane gets to his feet, striding over to Ed and patting him on the shoulder.

"Are you sure you wanna have this conversation, man?"

Ed hesitates only for a moment before dipping his head. Cowering like the no balled shithead he is.

"Go on, pull the damn thing out," Ed commands.

Shane doesn't make a move, I assume waiting for Ed to fix the fire his damn self.

"Go on!" Ed barks.

At this point I realize he's actually giving orders to Carol, and she quickly scurries to the flames, snatching the log and tossing it aside without a word.

"Christ…" Shane mutters, stepping over to the still burning log and stamping the flaming end out.

He turns and crouches across from Carol and her daughter, Sophia, eyeing them appraisingly.

"Hey Carol, Sophia. How are y'all this evening?" He questions.

"Fine," Carol replies softly. "We're just fine."

No one believes her. We all know he hits her. I told Shane weeks ago that he needs to take care of him. That if he won't, I will. He promised me he's got it under control, that he'll take him away  _ ‘if it escalates.’ _ If. If is bullshit. It's going to. Not if.  _ When. _ And by then, it could be too late.

"Okay," Shane nods.

"I'm sorry about the fire," Carol says meekly.

"No, no, no. No apology needed," Shane insists. "Y'all have a good night, okay?"

It's times like these I'm grateful for Shane. He's got some bad points, but most of the time his good shines through. He's a bit like what Merle might be, I think, if Merle were a little more productive and a lot less racist. Oh, and alive.

"Thank you," Carol murmurs.

"I appreciate the cooperation," Shane says, rising and heading back to take his place with the rest of us.

"Have you given any thought to  _ Daryl _ Dixon?" Dale asks once Shane's settled back in. "He won't be happy to hear his brother was left behind."

"I'll tell him," T-Dog volunteers. "I dropped the key, it's on me."

"I cuffed him," Rick counters. "That makes it mine."

"Guys, it's not a competition," Glenn says, eyeing Rick. "I don't mean to bring race into this, but it might sound better coming from a white guy."

"I did what I did," T-Dog says, looking at my face and wincing. "Hell if I'm gonna hide from him. I'm sorry you got caught in the middle, Adie."

"Damn, T, I really look that bad?" I ask, earning a half-hearted chuckle. "I  _ chose _ to put myself in the middle, don't apologize."

"We could lie," Amy suggests.

"Or tell the truth," Andrea counters. "Merle was out of control. Something had to be done or he'd have gotten us killed," she eyes Lori. "Your husband did what was necessary. And if Merle got left behind, it is  _ nobody's _ fault but Merle's."

"And  _ that's _ what we tell  _ Daryl?" _ Dale questions dubiously, shaking his head. "I don't see a rational discussion to be had from that, do you?"

"Merle's his brother," I point out. "He's not gonna be rational."

"Word to the wise," Dale sighs. "We're gonna have our hands full when he gets back from his hunt."

"I was scared," T-Dog admits. "I was scared and I ran. I'm not ashamed of it."

"We were all scared," Andrea points out.

"I was unconscious," I spit, more venom in my voice than I'd intended.

I know T didn't leave Merle on purpose. I know that. Andrea just pisses me off. If it had been Amy, she'd feel differently.

"We  _ all _ ran," Andrea continues, glaring at me before returning her gaze to T. "What's your point?"

"I stopped long enough to chain that door," T-Dog informs us. "Staircase is narrow. Maybe half a dozen geeks can squeeze against it at any one time. It's not enough to break through that. Not that chain. Not that padlock," he pauses, meeting Andrea's eyes. "My point… Dixon's alive. And he's still up there, handcuffed on that roof. That's on us."

He rises and heads to the tents. Merle's alive. Shit. Shit, shit,  _ shit. _ I rake my hands through my hair, rising to my own feet and stalking off in the direction T had just gone. Whirling back to the group surrounding the fire, I meet Rick's eyes. I can see the same guilt consuming me reflected in his face.

"We have to go back," I state. "I'm goin' back for 'im, first light, even if I go alone."

I turn back before anyone can argue or attempt to tell me otherwise and make my way to the tent T-Dog and I are sharing. I unzip the tent flap, moonlight slanting inside, illuminating T-Dog. He's laying on his back, staring into nothing. I zip the tent, enveloping us both in pitch dark, and sit cross legged on top of my sleeping bag.

"This isn't on you," I murmur.

He doesn't respond but I know he's listening.

"You did the best you could do with what you had in a shitty situation. No one can ask for more than that."

I sit quietly for a few moments, allowing my words to settle. As thunder claps sound in the distance, I slip into my sleeping bag and zip it closed around me, hunkering down for the night. I'm fucking exhausted but my mind is spinning. Merle is alive. And I'm just as guilty as anyone else. My thoughts center on Daryl. He puts on a front, plays mean because that's how he knows he'll survive, but he loves his brother. The group is worried about his reaction, and we should be. He's a hothead. But can we really expect him to be okay with this? The thunder grows louder, clouds breaking open and steady rain falling from the sky. The sounds are soothing, even in this mess, and I fall asleep quickly despite the storm raging inside.


	3. It's Gotta Be the Brain

**Chapter 3**

I wake with a vicious bitch mother of a headache.

"Holy shit," I mumble, sitting up and stretching.

I touch my face gingerly. I'm definitely swollen, probably bruised too. Merle packs one hell of a punch. I unzip myself from my sleeping bag, noting that T-Dog's spot is already vacant. I raise my arms and clasp my hands above my head, stretching until each shoulder pops. With a groan of satisfaction, I step outside into the cool dawn air, my eyes drawn almost immediately to Glenn. He's absolutely bereft, he and Rick watching while Jim, Morales, and Dale tear apart the gorgeous, cherry red Dodge Challenger he'd used as a decoy yesterday. I can't help but laugh, clapping him on the shoulder.

"At least you got to drive it once," I point out. "Maybe we'll come across a Vette sometime. Maybe I'll even let you drive it before I do."

"Look at 'em," he spits bitterly. " _ Vultures. _ Yeah, go on, strip it clean."

"Generators need every drop of fuel they can get," Dale says apologetically. "Got no power without it. Sorry, Glenn."

"Thought I'd get to drive it at least a few more days," Glenn sulks.

"Maybe we'll get to steal another one someday," Rick says, attempting in vain to console him before loping off towards Lori.

Glenn just stares glumly. I side check him gently and head to the Winnebago, sprinting up the steps and into the tiny bathroom. Evaluating my reflection in the mirror, I can see why no one wants to look me in the eye. Merle cracked me good, my right eye is swollen and bloodshot, the skin blackened and sore, deep plum and navy bruising creating an unsettlingly stark contrast to my otherwise milk white complexion.

"You'd think I'd be gettin' a glorious tan, all this time we're spendin' outside," I mutter bitterly, gingerly tracing the small gash in my cheek where Merle's fist had broken skin.

My inspection is interrupted by the roar of an engine and, alarmed, I barrel out of the trailer just in time to see Shane hop out of the Jeep and slam the door. Our assorted water vessels are in the back, full and ready for sanitation.

"Water's here, y'all," he announces. "Just a reminder to boil before use."

I stalk over to him, every intention of asking exactly when the hell he plans on confessing to Rick about playing house with his family. Before I get to him, though, a child's scream erupts from somewhere in the trees. I break into a run in the direction of Carl and Sophia, both hollering for their mothers. I grab the hatchet I keep strapped to my belt as I reach the clearing the kids had been playing in, in the center of which lies a fallen doe, two arrows protruding from her body, and a walker making a meal out of her neck. We form a half circle around the walker as it rises, snarling and stumbling towards Rick, blood and flesh falling from its jaws in an almost vulgar fashion. Rick doesn't hesitate, landing the first blow. We converge upon the corpse, each landing blows like it's some kind of fucked up zombie pinata.

Morales elbows me out of the way, and I stagger into Amy and Andrea, both of whom are staring in horror as the men beat the shit out of the walker. Annoyed, but not especially wanting to get in the middle of another scuffle, given what happened last time, I stand back and watch as Dale brings an axe down on the walker, severing its head from its body and effectively ending the fight.

"It's the first one we've had up here," he pants. "They never come this far up the mountain."

"Well, they're running out of food in the city, that's what," Jim says darkly.

Before we can speculate upon what that means, a branch snaps, a sudden rustling alerting us to something else lurking in the trees. Instantly, weapons are drawn and defensive stances taken. Shane raises his gun in the direction of the noise just as Daryl steps out of the shrubbery, toting his crossbow. Shit. The arrows. This was Daryl's kill.

"Oh, Jesus," Shane mutters.

"Son of a bitch," Daryl curses, sauntering towards the corpse of the dismembered walker. "That's my deer! Look at it, all gnawed on by this filthy, disease-bearin', motherless,  _ poxy _ bastard!"

He punctuates each insult with a kick to the headless body on the ground. Oh, here we go.

"Calm down son, that's not helping," Dale reprimands.

"What do you know about it, old man?" Daryl spits, stalking towards Dale menacingly. "Why don't you take that stupid hat and go back to 'On Golden Pond'?"

I bite back a laugh. I like Dale well enough but I have to admit, Daryl's funny. And I hate that hat. Daryl sighs, turning back to his deer.

"I've been trackin' this deer for miles," he laments, pulling arrows from the mangled carcass. "Gonna drag it back to camp, cook us up some venison! What do you think, think we can cut around this chewed up part right here?" He asks hopefully, looking up and meeting my eyes.

Realizing he expects me to answer, I shake my head solemnly.

"I would not risk that," Shane agrees.

"That's a damn shame," Daryl sighs, eyes wandering my face and registering the damage. "Hell happened to you?"

Before I can answer, his cheeks redden and he drops his gaze, turning towards Shane. What the hell?

"I got some squirrel, about a dozen or so," he says, abruptly changing the subject from my injury to the dead rodents slung over his back. "That'll have to do."

The conversation is interrupted by the head at Daryl's feet, a strange, slopping sound coming from its moving jaw.

"Oh, god…" Amy whimpers, turning away.

Andrea shields her and they hastily head back to camp.

"Come on people, what the hell?" Daryl questions in disbelief, raising his crossbow and shooting an arrow through the walker's eyeball.

Moving forward, he places the toe of his boot on the head, holding it in place as he retrieves his arrow.

"It's gotta be the brain," he announces, flicking blood off the arrow and backing away. "Don't y'all know nothin'?" He demands, looking from person to person but studiously avoiding my face.

Can't say I blame him, I look pretty messed up. Fuck, how are we gonna tell him? He strides back into camp. Oh, hell. This is it. I exchange a glance with Rick and follow Daryl out of the clearing.

"Merle!" He hollers, striding through the camp, waiting for his brother to make himself known. "Merle! Get your ugly ass out here! I got us some squirrel! Let's stew 'em up."

The group gathers round, watching him silently, no one daring to breathe a word just yet.

"Daryl," Shane starts. "Just slow up a bit, I need to talk to you."

"About what?" Daryl demands.

"About Merle," Shane hedges. "There was a uh… there was a problem in Atlanta."

Daryl's eyes flash briefly to my face and back to Shane's. Everything falls silent, like the woods themselves are waiting with bated breath while Daryl processes what he's hearing, eyes cast downward, chewing his lip like he does when he's trying not to show an emotional reaction to the world around him.

"He dead?" He asks softly.

"We're not sure," Shane answers.

"He either is or he ain't!"

I can't take the silence that falls.

"Oh, for god's sake," I hiss, willing Rick or T-Dog to step up. “One of you tell ‘im or I will.”

“Tell me what?” Daryl snaps, suspicious eyes flickering from face to face.

"No easy way to say this, so I'll just say it," Rick starts.

"Who are you?" Daryl asks hotly, looking the man up and down.

"Rick Grimes."

"Rick  _ Grimes, _ " Daryl sneers. "You got somethin' you wanna tell me?"

"Your brother was a danger to us all, he's what happened to Adrienne," Rick informs him.

Daryl's eyes find my face once more, and I hang my head, covering my eye with my hair. 

"It's not that bad," I mumble.

"So I handcuffed him to a roof, hooked him to a piece of metal," Rick states matter of factly. “He’s still there.”

"Hold on, let me process this," Daryl huffs, turning away and spinning his index finger around his ear before turning back to Rick. "You're saying you handcuffed my brother to a roof and you  _ left _ him there?" He roars, face reddening.

"Yeah," Rick admits.

Daryl flings his squirrels at Rick, lunging towards him. Before he can get too far, though, Shane launches himself at Daryl, knocking him to the ground.

"Watch the knife," T-Dog warns as Daryl pulls a blade from his belt, getting to his feet and taking a swing at Rick.

I start towards the fray, knowing damn well I'll end up hurt but unable to just stand and do nothing. Shane shoves me out of the way, lunging at Daryl once more, this time pulling him into a chokehold.

"Okay, okay," he pants, pulling the struggling bowman from Rick.

"You best let me go!" Daryl barks.

"Nah, I think it's better if I don't," Shane replies, crouching to the ground with Daryl firmly in his grip.

"Choke hold's illegal!" Daryl spits.

"You can file a complaint," Shane snarks. "Come on man, we'll keep this up all day."

Rick crouches down in front of Daryl, playing good cop to Shane's bad. They've been best friends since they were kids, grew up like brothers, became partners on the force. Kinda begs the question why the hell Shane's been screwing his wife, but that's not my business.

"I'd like to have a calm discussion on this topic, think we can manage that?" Rick questions.

The question is met with silence, Daryl's angry squint firmly on the ground.

"Think we can  _ manage _ that?" Rick repeats.

"Hmm? Hmmm? Yeah," Shane assents, determining Daryl is ready for said calm discussion and throwing him from his grasp.

"What I did was not on a whim," Rick says firmly. "Your brother does not work and play well with others. Adrienne tried to stop him  _ without _ force, took a fist to her face, hit her head, I had to-"

"It's not Rick's fault," T-Dog cuts in. "I had the key. I dropped it."

"You couldn't pick it up?" Daryl demands incredulously, steel blue eyes glinting in the Georgia sun.

"Well I dropped it in a drain," T explains.

Daryl scoffs in utter disbelief, glaring at the ground for a moment before picking himself up and stalking past T-Dog.

"If that's supposed to make me feel better, it don't," he spits.

"Well maybe this will," T-Dog says. "Look, I chained the door to the roof so the geeks couldn't get at him. With a padlock."

"It's gotta count for somethin'," Rick pleads.

Daryl is quiet for a moment, roughly dragging the back of his hand across his eyes. He's crying.

"Hell with all y'all!" He shouts angrily, defeated. "Just tell me where he is. So's I can go get him."

"He'll show you," Lori interjects. "Isn't that right?"

Silence follows, loaded and oppressive. Rick’s not saying a damn thing. Hell, nobody is.

"I told y'all last night, I’m goin’ back," I state firmly. "Whether any of you go with me or not. We can't just leave him to die."

"Adie," Shane scoffs. "You took a hit to the head, you're not goin' on any damn run. For what? Redemption? So you can, you can die on some… some misguided mission to ease your conscience? For  _ Merle Dixon? _ "

"This isn't about redemption," I snap, whirling to face Shane. "I didn't  _ choose _ to leave a man to die on some godforsaken roof like some kind of animal just 'cause he was havin' a  _ tantrum. _ "

It's silent for a few moments, Shane's mouth flattening into a hard line as he glares at me.

"I'm goin' back," Rick blurts.

And, just like that, the matter is settled. We all break to gather basic supplies for the trip. I get my shit together and meet Daryl at the fire pit, sinking into a folding chair while he paces like a caged cat. I feel his eyes on me and look up. The moment my eyes meet his, he looks away, chewing his lip.

"Thanks," he says gruffly.

"I didn't do shit," I mutter, turning my face so he can't see my eye.

"How bad's it hurt?" He questions.

"I've had worse," I assure him, surprised to be carrying on a conversation with the surly man.

"M'sorry," he blurts.

"Why?" I snort. "You didn't do it. It's my own damn fault, anyway. Him and T-Dog were havin' it out and I got in the middle of it. It was just an accident."

I shrug, looking up at him. He just grunts, turning away as Rick and Shane stride towards us. They're arguing. Shit. I stand, bracing myself for some kind of brawl. That seems to be all we do lately, what's another one?

"Could you throw me a bone here man?" Shane demands. "Could you just… tell me why? Why would you risk your life for a douchebag like Merle Dixon?"

"Hey!" Daryl interjects. "Choose your words more carefully."

"No, I did," Shane replies. "Douchebag's what I meant. Merle Dixon… that guy wouldn't give you a glass of water if you were dyin' of thirst."

"What he would or wouldn't do doesn't interest me," Rick counters. " _ I _ can't let a man die of thirst,  _ me. _ Thirst and  _ exposure. _ We left him like an animal caught in a trap. That's no way for anything to die, let alone a human being."

"So you, Adrienne, and Daryl? That's your big plan?" Lori questions.

Rick turns to Glenn, staring him down.

"Oh, come on," he whines.

"You know the way. You've been there before. In and out no problem, you said so yourself," Rick says. "It's not fair of me to ask, I know that. But I'd feel a lot better with you along, I know she would too," he finishes, gesturing to Lori.

"That's just great," Shane says. "So now you're gonna risk four people, huh?"

"Five," T-Dog announces, putting an arm around me and squeezing.

"My day just gets better and better, don't it?" Daryl scoffs bitterly, glaring at T before continuing to wipe down his arrows.

"You see anybody else here stepping up?" T-Dog asks incredulously. "To save your brother's cracker ass?"

I nudge him gently, trying to get him to ease up without saying it out loud. There's too much goddamn tension to be bickering already.

"Why  _ you? _ " Daryl questions.

"You wouldn't even begin to understand," T-Dog says. "You don't speak my language."

"That's five," Rick says triumphantly.

"It's not just five," Shane argues. "You're putting every single one of us at risk. Just know that, Rick. Come on, you saw that walker. It was here, it was  _ in camp! _ They're movin' out of the cities. They come back, we need every able body we got. We need 'em here, we need 'em to  _ protect _ camp."

"Seems to me what you really need most here are more guns," Rick says.

"Right," Glenn muses. "The guns."

"What guns?" I demand.

"Six shotguns," Rick begins, looking at me, then back at Shane. "Two high powered rifles, over a dozen handguns. I cleaned out the cage back at the station before I left. I dropped the bag in Atlanta when I got swarmed, it's just sittin' there on the street waitin' to be picked up."

"Ammo?" Shane asks.

"700 rounds, assorted."

"You went through hell to find us," Lori points out. "You just got here and you're gonna turn around and leave?"

"Dad, I don't want you to go," Carl says.

"To hell with the guns," Lori mutters. "Shane's right. Merle Dixon? He's not worth one of your lives, even with the guns thrown in."

"Who the hell're you to decide how much a life is worth, Lori?" I demand, earning a stony glance. "No, really. Do you have some kinda  _ ledger _ somewhere, a list of  _ transgressions _ to judge whose life is or isn't worth savin'? How many times does your name show up on that list? Or  _ Shane's? _ "

I eye her pointedly. She balks, then glares right back at me. She knows I know, and that's enough for me.

"Tell me," she implores, turning to her husband. "Make me understand."

"You know what? I'm not gonna stand here and listen to this shit," I huff. "We don't have all goddamn day, I'm leavin' in 30 with whoever decides to man up and come with."

With that I stomp off to wait.


	4. Not a Single Pepperoni

**Chapter 4**

In the end, Rick decides to go. After some squabbling with Dale over lending us his bolt cutters, we're off. Or at least, I thought we were. Glenn hops into the driver's seat of the cube van, Daryl and I hauling ourselves into the back. I make myself at home in the corner behind the passenger seat while Daryl paces around impatiently, waiting for Rick and T to join us. Holding onto the metal framing separating the cab from the trailer, he kicks a leg up over Glenn and honks the horn insistently with his foot.

"Come on, let's go!" He hollers.

Rick finishes up his conversation with Dale and Jim, heading for the van. T-Dog trails after him, bolt cutters in hand. As T climbs into the vehicle, Shane strides over with a duffel bag marked SHERIFF.

"Hey, Rick, got any rounds in the python?" He questions, setting the bag on the back bumper.

"No."

"Last time we were in the gun range, I'm sure I wound up with a few loose rounds of yours," Shane says, opening the bag and rooting around inside.

"You and that bag…" Rick says fondly, shaking his head. "Like the bottom of an old lady's purse."

"I hate that you're doing this, man," Shane says, eyeing Rick. "I think that it's foolish and reckless, but if you're gonna go you're taking bullets."

"I'm not too sure I'd want to fire a shot in the city,” Rick admits. “Not after what happened last time."

"That's up to you," Shane replies, producing a small handful of bullets from the duffel. "Well… four men, four rounds. What are the odds, huh?"

What the hell am I, asshole? I let it go. Shane finds my eavesdropping to be an irritating little habit. I stay well informed, though, so let him be mad about it. Still, it bothers me that Shane doesn't seem to consider me an asset because I'm a woman. I'm well suited for this kind of thing. I spent a lot of years training in self defense, and I was on every damn sports team I could fit into my schedule through both middle and high school. I might not be as big or strong as a man, but I can take care of myself. And I'm a damn good shot.

"Well let's just hope that uh…" Shane continues. "Let's just hope that four's your lucky number, okay?"

"Thank you," Rick says, taking the bullets.

"Alright."

Rick comes around to the passenger side, climbing in and loading the rounds into his gun as Daryl pulls the trailer door closed. T-Dog sinks into the corner opposite the one I've claimed as Glenn starts the van, engine roaring to life. We're off. Daryl opts for a corner at the tail end, pulling his knees to his chest, quiet and brooding as he chews at his lip. The ride is mostly silent, the tension between Daryl and T-Dog hanging heavy in the air. Daryl's not racist, not like his brother. I think Merle truly believes whites are superior. Daryl just parrots the shit he's heard his whole life. It's almost childlike. Rick and Glenn speak softly, planning the best route into the city. Something about train tracks. I find that I'm exhausted and aching, despite getting plenty of sleep last night. My head lolls to the side as I drift off, but only for a moment before Glenn hits a bump and my tender head smacks into metal.

"Shit," I hiss.

"Sorry!" Glenn hollers from the cab.

"You alright?" T-Dog questions, scooting from his corner to mine. "You get any sleep?"

"I'm fine," I reply, resting my head on his shoulder. "Just a little sore."

"You should sleep while you still can," he instructs. "I got you."

"I'm fine, really," I insist, but nonetheless I continue to lean on him and doze.

*Daryl's POV*

Adrienne and T-Dog. When the hell did that happen? I'm watching her, I've been watching her. I can't figure her out. I don't know why the fuck this girl thinks she needs to play peacemaker, but that shit's gonna get her killed out here. Not that it matters much to me. The only person I give a fuck about got his ass cuffed up on some rooftop. Still, he's gonna get his. When we find him, I'm gonna tell him about them guns. We'll help these sorry sumbitches get the guns, get back to their camp. Tonight, we'll take it all and leave. Head for the coast, like we fuckin' planned. He's probably gonna wanna kill the cop, and T-Dog, too. I ain't gonna stop him. Wouldn't if I could.

Watching Adrienne, I'm bothered. It bothers me that she's all cozied up to T-Dog. It bothers me that I notice her, the way she fidgets and the way she's always pushing them curls out of her eyes and how long her stupid legs are. _She does yoga, baby_ _brother._ Merle likes her and, even knowing he likes anything with a pulse and a pair of tits, that shit bothers me, too. It _bothers_ me that it bothers me. This girl wouldn't've looked at a piece of shit like me twice before and, somehow, she's the driving force behind getting my brother back. Why should she give a damn what happens to him, anyway? What does she want?

I wish I could shut this shit off. My brain, the thoughts just circling incessantly around each other, never seeming to connect to anything real. Wishing don't do shit, though. I just need to find something to focus on. Not some fuckin' girl with a death wish, neither. I feel most comfortable alone in the woods. Hunting. Tracking. Focused. Having a specific purpose, a singular goal I know I can get to.

Still, I find my eyes drawn back to the girl in the corner. She's sleeping, taking full advantage of the drive. That eye looks like it stings something awful and I feel guilty. I know I didn't do it, but I ain't stupid. I know everyone just sees me as an extension of my brother. Just some redneck, good for nothin' asshole angry at the world for having the audacity to  _ exist. _ I guess that's who I am though, ain't it? Suddenly the ground underneath us shifts as we roll over the train tracks Glenn and the cop decided were our best way in, and I can feel this pit of dread deep in my gut, nervous about what we're gonna find on that rooftop. Adrienne stirs when the van slows. We're here.

*Adrienne's POV*

I'm jostled awake as we roll over some kind of bumpy terrain. Sitting up straight, I meet Daryl's eyes immediately. He averts his gaze and I feel like I was just caught doing something I shouldn't have been, cheeks flushing hot. I stretch my arms and yawn, then attempt to mentally prepare for the possibility that Merle is dead. Or somewhere between dead and alive. There's no guarantee we're getting what we came for.

"He better be okay," Daryl warns, eyeing T. "It's my only word on the matter."

"I told you the geeks can't get at him," T-Dog replies, exasperated. "Only thing that's gonna get through that door is us."

Glenn puts the cube van in park, pulling the keys from the ignition and looking back at us.

"We walk from here," he announces.

Daryl throws the door up, hopping out as me and T-Dog climb to our feet. T grabs the bolt cutters and we follow Daryl's lead, jumping out the back of the van onto the tracks. We tear up the tracks, sprinting towards the hole Glenn and me had cut in the fence weeks ago. Easy access to the back roads from the tracks. In and out, easy.

"Merle first or guns?" Rick questions as we squeeze through the chain link.

"Merle!" Daryl snarls, incensed Rick had even thought it was a question. "We ain't even havin' this conversation."

"We are," Rick insists, turning to Glenn. "You know the geography. It's your call."

"Merle's closer," I point out. "He takes priority over guns, anyway. He's a human being, for Christ's sake."

"The guns would mean doubling back," Glenn confirms. "Merle first."

Together, the five of us move through the city streets as silently as we can, weary of the dead lurking down every alley, around every corner. We get to the building we'd scavenged yesterday without any problems, Rick and Glenn leading the way inside. Among the department store clothing racks, we spot a single walker, shuffling about mindlessly.

"Damn," Daryl murmurs, raising his crossbow. "You are one ugly skank."

He releases an arrow into its skull, quickly retrieving it after the body thuds to the floor. Once the walker is taken care of, we head up the stairs to the roof access door. I catch sight of the padlocked chain and my heart flips. It's still intact. Relieved, T-Dog uses the bolt cutters to sever the padlock and we sprint onto the roof, Daryl leading the way.

"Merle! Merle!"

"Shit," I curse under my breath.

Merle's not here. Not all of him, anyway.

"No!" Daryl yells, tears in his voice, his face contorting. "No! No!"

He paces, unsure what to do with the situation. He starts towards T, changes his mind and steps back to the bloody hacksaw on the ground. About a foot away from the saw is Merle's hand. He must have taken his hand off to escape the cuffs, which are still dangling on the metal pipe. With a growl, Daryl turns on T, whipping his crossbow upwards and aiming for T-Dog's head. Before he can shoot, Rick has a gun against his temple. Daryl freezes, breathing heavily as he contemplates his next move.

"I won't hesitate," Rick warns. "I don't care if every walker in the city hears it."

Blinking back tears, Daryl lowers his crossbow defeatedly. Collecting himself, he eyes T-Dog levelly.

"You got a… you got a do-rag or sum'n?"

T retrieves a blue cloth from his pocket, and Daryl snatches it from him, striding back towards his brother's hand. He leans his crossbow against a pipe and kneels, flattening the rag on the ground with a heavy sigh.

"I guess the uh, saw blade was too dull for the handcuffs," he says, gingerly lifting Merle's hand by the pinky finger and assessing it. "Ain't that a bitch."

He sighs, placing the hand into the do-rag and neatly folding it inside. Getting to his feet, he looks around for somewhere to keep the wrapped hand. I turn, offering my backpack, and he accepts, unbuttoning the top flap and gently laying Merle's hand inside. I turn to him, our eyes meeting. I just nod, understanding his appreciation without needing him to say it out loud.

"He must have used a tourniquet, maybe his belt," he observes, following the drops of blood marking the path Merle took after hacking off his hand. "Be much more blood if he didn't."

Rick eyes me, raising an eyebrow, as though unsure whether we should follow the short-fused man or leave him to his own devices. I don't know why the hell it's my decision, but I nod anyway, trailing after Daryl, Glenn and Rick close behind, while T-Dog gathers Dale's tools we'd abandoned with Merle yesterday afternoon. We come to a second rooftop access door, Merle's blood leading us down the stairs.

"Merle? You in here?" Daryl calls, quickly descending into the shadowy stairwell.

We follow the trail into a neighboring building, combing our way through some kind of corporate looking office. Another walker greets us there, snarling, and Daryl quickly puts her down, not bothering to grab his arrow in his haste to find his brother. He heads into a hallway, focused only on making it to Merle. I snatch the arrow from the walker's skull. Bolts are hard to come by, harder than bullets, and he'll need it later. We quietly continue our way through the building, following Merle's footsteps into a larger office. Two walkers had been taken down, their bodies lying on the floor, a bloody wrench between them.

"Had enough in him to take out these two sumbitches," Daryl observes, gesturing to the bodies.

"One handed," I point out, impressed.

"Toughest asshole I ever met, my brother," Daryl replies, adjusting his crossbow and taking his arrow from my hand, nodding a thank you. "Feed him a hammer, he'd shit out nails."

"Any man can pass out from blood loss," Rick points out. "No matter how tough he is."

We continue through the building, following the trail Merle left, searching for any sign of him. Well, any  _ more _ signs of him.

"Merle!" Daryl shouts as we step through another doorway.

"We're not alone here," Rick hisses. "Remember?"

"Screw that," Daryl spits. "He could be bleedin' out, you said so yourself."

"Shh!" T-Dog says sharply.

We've come across the building's kitchen. Merle's belt is sitting near a couple gas burners, blue flame halos still flickering. A significant amount of blood coats the stove and counters, the stench of burnt flesh lingering in the air. Son of a bitch.

"What's that burned stuff?" Glenn asks softly, referring to the mess on an iron Rick had just picked up.

"Skin," I state flatly.

"He cauterized the stump," Rick sighs.

"I told you he was tough," Daryl says matter of factly. "Nobody can kill Merle but Merle."

"Don't take that on faith, he's lost a lot of blood," Rick counters.

"Yeah? Didn't stop him from bustin' outta this death trap," comes Daryl's reply as he makes his way to the window, a large hole smashed through a pane of frosted glass.

"He left the building?" Glenn demands, horrified. "Why the hell would he do that?"

"Why wouldn't he?" I question, Glenn's eyes sliding to mine. "He had no reason to believe anyone was comin' back for 'im."

"He's out there alone as far as he knows, doin' what he's gotta do," Daryl confirms. "Survivin'."

"You call that surviving?" T-Dog asks incredulously. "Just wandering out in the streets, maybe passin' out? What are his odds out there?"

"No worse than being handcuffed and left to rot by you sorry pricks," Daryl snaps, eyeing Rick cooly. " _ You _ couldn't kill 'im. Ain't so worried about some dumb, dead bastard."

"What about a thousand dumb, dead bastards?" Rick questions. "Different story?"

"Why don't you take a tally?" Daryl spits. "Do what you want. I'm gon' get him."

"Like hell," I blurt. "Alone? Then we'll just have both of you missin'."

"He's my brother!" Daryl counters, turning.

"Daryl, wait!" Rick says firmly, pushing Daryl back as he tries to climb through the broken window.

"Get your hands off me!" Daryl barks. "You can't stop me!"

"I don't blame you," Rick says, looking Daryl in the eyes. "He's family, I get that, I went through hell to find mine. I know exactly how you feel. He can't get far with that injury, we could help you check a few blocks around but  _ only _ if we keep a level head."

"I could do that," Daryl replies.

"Only if we get those guns first," T-Dog says. "I'm not strolling through the streets of Atlanta with just my good intentions, okay?"

In the end, we all agree that's fair. But we need a plan.

-

"You're not doin' this alone," Rick says.

"Even I think it's a bad idea and I don't even like you much," Daryl agrees.

"It's a good idea, okay? If you just hear me out," Glenn argues. "If we go out there in a group, we're slow, drawing attention. If I'm alone, I can move fast."

"If you're alone, no one can watch your back," I point out. "I'll go with you. I'm just as fast as you are, faster if we're bein' honest."

"You have a head injury, Adie! I saw how hard you went down," Glenn retorts. " _ And _ how long you were passed out. You have a concussion, okay? If we're being  _ honest, _ you shouldn't even be here."

I glare at him, seething.

"Look," he huffs, maneuvering office supplies around the makeshift map he'd drawn on the floor with an expo marker, eyeing Rick. "That's the tank, five blocks from where we are now. That's the bag of guns. Here's the alley I dragged you into when we first met. That's where Daryl, Adie, and I will go."

"Why me?" Daryl questions.

"Your crossbow is quieter than his gun," Glenn says simply. "Adie's the only one here I've seen take down armed men without her own weapon," he eyes Rick appraisingly. "I'm sure you could too, but I need you somewhere else."

"Wait a damn minute," I snap, outraged.

The four men in the room regard me, varying expressions of confusion on each face.

"So we're clear, you're suggestin' I'm fully capable of takin' down a man with a gun despite my  _ delicate state, _ " I spit. "But I can't run?"

"Actually, I think he's  _ suggestin’ _ I need a babysitter," Daryl scoffs, glaring at Glenn.

Unable to argue, Glenn opts to continue explaining his plan.

"While Daryl and Adie wait here in the alley, I run up the street, grab the bag."

"Which would put us elsewhere," Rick prompts.

"You and T-Dog, right," Glenn confirms. "You'll be in this alley here."

"Two blocks away, why?" Rick questions.

"I may not be able to come back the same way," Glenn explains. "Walkers might cut me off. If that happens, I won't go back to Daryl and Adie. I'll go forward instead. All the way around to that alley where you guys are. Whichever direction I go, I got you in both places to cover me."

Rick nods his approval. I hate this plan. This plan could very well end with Glenn splayed open in the street like that horse yesterday.

"Afterwards, we'll all meet back here," Glenn concludes.

"Hey, kid," Daryl mutters. "What'd you do before all this?"

I crow with laughter. Our boy has strategic planning skills worthy of the military, but I happen to know it's just a happy coincidence.

"Delivered pizzas," Glenn answers, looking at Daryl confusedly. "Why?"

"Not a single pepperoni stepped a toe out of line when you were around, sir," I quip, clapping him on the shoulder.

The five of us head outside, splitting off into our designated locations. Glenn, Daryl and I slip quickly down the alley, taking cover near a dumpster.

"You got some balls for a Chinaman," Daryl states, prepping his bow.

"Korean," Glenn corrects, annoyed.

"Whatever," Daryl shrugs.

At that, he loads up an arrow and Glenn slips through the chain link gate separating the alley from the street. Daryl and I flank either side of the gate, keeping our eyes trained on Glenn as he scurries down the road. But we're not alone. Daryl tenses, aiming his crossbow towards the clumsy footsteps drawing near to us from the other end of the alley. He springs around the corner of the dumpster, startling the Hispanic teen emerging from the alley. Kid can't be more than 18 or 20, and that's generous.

"Woah, don't shoot me!" He cries, panicked. "What do you want?"

"Lookin' for my brother, he's hurt real bad. You seen him?" Daryl questions, crossbow still aimed at the kid's face.

The kid shouts something in Spanish. Fuck. He's not alone, this could be an issue.

"Shut up, you're gonna bring the geeks down on us!" Daryl spits. "Answer me!"

Deciding Daryl's got this handled, what with the kid being unarmed and maybe 115 pounds, if that, I turn back to the gate and search the street for Glenn. My eyes find him just in time to see him snatch Rick's bag of guns off the asphalt and take off running back towards us. He turns back though, grabbing something else off the ground. A hat? Jesus, Glenn, come on! As though hearing my thoughts, he turns and, once again, hauls ass back towards the alley.

"Answer me!" Daryl demands again.

"You're gonna wanna cooperate," I advise, keeping my eyes on Glenn.

The kid repeats the same thing he'd cried earlier, I assume in an attempt to alert whoever he's here with that he's in trouble. He keeps shouting.

"He's gonna draw 'em right to us!" I hiss.

Daryl smacks him with the butt of his crossbow, knocking the still screaming kid to the ground. He crouches over him, attempting to cover his mouth before he gets us all killed.

"Shh, shut up! Shut up!" He whispers sharply.

"Daryl!" I cry as two men tear around the corner, one carrying a bat.

Both men ignore me, running straight to Daryl. The unarmed man kicks Daryl in the ribs, the other bringing his bat down with a crack onto his side. Springing into action, I kick Bat Guy's legs from beneath him and he lands hard on the ground, his hold on the bat loosening. I wrench the bat from his grip as Glenn comes tearing into the alley, bag of guns in hand.

"Get outta here!" I holler.

Glenn freezes, taking in the scene before him. Both men have lost interest in me and Daryl, making a beeline towards Glenn and the bag.

"That's it! That's the bag, Vato, take it!" One of the men shouts.

Glenn whirls around, sprinting back down the alley. He doesn't have enough of a lead and is tackled to the ground, both men wailing on him as he tosses the bag, sending it skittering towards me.

"Get down!" Daryl snarls, and I hit the asphalt, landing hard on top of the bag as an arrow explodes from behind me, hitting the unarmed man in the ass cheek, which would be hilarious under any other circumstances.

A car comes to a screeching halt outside the gate, the back door opening and the unarmed guy diving into it. Bat Guy pulls Glenn to his chest, backing towards the vehicle. He's using Glenn to fuck up Daryl's shot.

"Daryl! Adie! Get off me! Get off me! Daryl!" Glenn yells. "Adie!"

But there's nothing we can do, Glenn is pulled into the car and it speeds off.


	5. Is This a Size Doesn't Matter Kinda Deal?

**Chapter 5**

"Come back here!" Daryl yells, clawing at the chain link in frustration. "You sumbitches!"

He yanks the gate shut, barring the walkers from the alley. Still holding the bat, I sling the bag of guns over my shoulder and turn to the dipshit still laying on the ground.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I snarl, pulling him roughly to his feet as Rick and T-Dog come tearing around the corner. 

Daryl lunges, taking a swing at the kid and I let him, releasing the little fucker as Daryl winds back for another swing. Before his fist can connect, Rick hurls himself between Daryl and the kid.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Stop it!" He yells, shoving Daryl into the chain link fence behind him.

"I'm gonna kick your nuts up into your throat!" Daryl hollers, fighting like hell to get Rick out of his way.

"Let me go!" The kid shrieks.

"Chill out!" T orders, holding the kid against the wall.

"They took Glenn!" Daryl shouts. "That little bastard and his little bastard homie friends!"

Rick looks to me and I nod, confirming that the rage is fully warranted.

"I'm gonna stomp your ass!" Daryl yells, pointing viciously at the kid cowering against the wall.

"Guys, we need to take this inside,those dead assholes are gonna down that thing," I mutter, watching as the walkers push against the fence.

"We're cut off!" T shouts, pulling the kid by the arm as he sprints down the alley.

"Get to the lab!" Rick orders. "Go!"

"Come on!" Daryl cries. "Damn, let's go!"

Rick hesitates for a moment, grabbing his Sheriff's hat from the ground near where the guns had landed before running after T-Dog and the kid, Daryl and me right behind him. We barrel inside, panting heavily, relieved to have a solid structure between us and the jaws of the dead. By the time we reach the office where we'd planned the gun reconnaissance, T-Dog's leaning against a counter, the kid slumped sulkily on a chair across from him.

"Those men you were with," Rick begins. "We need to know where they went."

"I ain't tellin' you nothin'," the kid says defiantly.

"You wanna rethink that?" I question, crouching down in front of him, bat resting nonchalantly over my shoulder.

He casts his eyes to the floor, choosing to remain silent.

"Jesus, man, what the hell happened back there?" T asks.

"I told you!" Daryl replies hotly, pacing. "This little turd and his douchebag friends came outta nowhere and jumped us."

"Ay, you're the one who jumped me,  _ puto! _ " The kid spits. "Screamin' about tryna find his brother like it's my damn fault."

"Askin' if you saw anything, you fuckin' idiot," I correct, flicking him in the forehead and rising to my feet.

"Adrienne," Rick warns.

"They  _ took _ Glenn!" I snarl. 

"Coulda taken Merle, too," Daryl adds.

"Merle?" The kid scoffs. "What kinda hick name is that? I wouldn't name my  _ dog _ Merle."

Daryl cocks a fist back and lunges at the kid, lifting a leg to land a kick to the little shit's head when Rick intercepts his punch.

"Damn you, Daryl, back off!" Rick grunts, holding him back.

"Yeah, smart plan kid. Keep pushin' him, see where it gets you. Wanna see what happened to the last guy that pissed him off?" I question, catching Daryl's eyes and gazing meaningfully at my bag resting atop a small filing cabinet in the corner.

A look of understanding registers on Daryl's face and he strides towards my backpack, producing the blue rag in which he'd carefully tucked his brother's severed hand less than an hour ago. He shoots a warning glance at Rick, daring him to call the bluff, before unwrapping Merle's hand and dropping the hunk of flesh unceremoniously into the little punk's lap. You'd think he'd just shot the kid, the way he leaps from the chair screaming.

"Start with the  _ feet _ this time!" Daryl threatens, crouching menacingly over the kid and pushing him into the wall.

Rick steps in before Daryl can get carried away, pulling him away from the kid with a warning look. I can't help but be amused. I'm sorry that Merle lost his hand, but god damn, if it ain't useful. Really coming in handy, if you will.

"The men you were with took our friend," Rick says calmly, crouching before the kid. "All we wanna do is talk to them, see if we can work something out."

The kid considers this, weighing his options.

"Look, kid. You don't have a lotta choices here. We outnumber you, we outsmart you, we  _ outgun _ you," I point out, hefting the bag of guns. "Your only way outta here in one piece is helpin' us work this out peacefully."

In the end, he seems to realize how hopeless his situation is and becomes somewhat cooperative, agreeing to lead us to the building where his band of merry thugs are holed up. It's just your standard brick building, could be anything. There's a large courtyard surrounded by a crumbling brick wall, which we're currently stationed outside of. Peering through the opening, I see no one. Living  _ or _ dead.

"You sure you're up for this?" Rick asks, eyeing me as T, acting as sniper, heads off to the vantage point, the bag of guns slung over his shoulder.

"Would I be here otherwise?" I shoot back.

"Okay," Rick assents, handing me a small handgun from the bag.

"Is this a size doesn't matter kinda deal?" I ask him, raising an eyebrow at the rifle he's carrying.

"It's an I don't know how familiar you are with guns kinda deal," Rick states firmly.

"Familiar enough to know this thing's a peashooter," I mutter.

"One wrong move," Daryl warns, glaring at the kid. "You get an arrow in the ass. Just so you know."

"G's gonna take that arrow outta my ass and shove it up yours. Just so  _ you _ know," the kid retorts. "Maybe he'll let me stick it in hers when he's done," he adds, nodding at me.

Daryl's eyes flash, his body tensing as he emits a noise of pure disgust.

"Try it," I say, striding over to where the kid sits, staring cockily up at me. "I've been lookin' for a reason, so try it. You come near me and I'll shove my foot so far up your ass, G'll be be pickin' my toes from between your teeth," I simper, patting his shoulder.

"G?" Rick asks with a smirk as the kid flinches away from my touch.

"Guillermo," the kid replies. "He the man here."

"Okay, then," Rick says, cocking his gun. "Let's go see Guillermo."

We single file through a broken out window, Rick and Daryl flanking the kid. I'm bringing up the rear, covering the men in front of me with my teeny tiny lady gun for my teeny tiny lady hands. Gimme a fucking break. The kid leads us to a set of wooden double doors, which open almost immediately upon our arrival. A short, Hispanic man walks out and stands before the kid. Guillermo, I assume.

"You okay, little man?" Guillermo asks somberly.

"They're gonna cut off my feet,  _ carnal, _ " the kid whines.

"Wimp," I scoff.

"Cops do that?" Guillermo questions, eyes shifting to Rick.

"Not him," the kid corrects, shaking his head. "This redneck  _ puto _ here. He cut off some dude's hand, man. He showed it to me."

"Shut up!" Daryl barks.

"Hey! That's that vato right there, homes," says a man, striding out of the building behind Guillermo.

The two men from the alley. They're armed.

"He shot me in the ass with an arrow, man. What's up, homes, huh?" One of the men asks, gun raised at Daryl.

"Chill,  _ esé, _ chill," Guillermo soothes, lowering his friend's arm. "Chill. This true? He wants Miguelito's feet? That's pretty sick, man."

"We were hoping more for a calm discussion," Rick states, keeping his gun raised.

"That hillbilly jumps Felipe's little cousin. Beats on him, threatens to cut off his feet. Felipe gets an arrow in the ass and you want a calm discussion?" Guillermo asks derisively. "You fascinate me."

"Heat of the moment," Rick says. "Mistakes were made, on both sides."

"Who are they to you anyway?" Guillermo questions, gesturing to Daryl and me in turn. "You don't look related. Especially the redhead."

I push my hair out of my eyes self consciously, meeting Daryl's gaze. We both keep our weapons trained on Guillermo.

"He's one of our group, more or less," Rick replies. "I'm sure you have a few like him. She's one of ours, too."

"You got my brother in there?" Daryl asks, taking a step closer.

"Sorry, we're fresh outta white boys," Guillermo snarks. "But I got a Asian. You interested?"

"I have one of yours, you have one of mine," Rick says, gun trained on Miguel's back. "Sounds like an even trade."

"Don't sound even to me," Guillermo retorts.

"G," the kid whines. "Come on, man."

"My people got attacked. Where's the compensation for their pain and suffering?" Guillermo demands. "More to the point, where's my bag of guns?"

"Guns?" Rick questions.

"The bag Miguel saw in the street. The bag Felipe and Jorge were going back to get. That bag of guns," Guillermo sniffs.

"You're mistaken," Rick says.

"I don't think so," Guillermo replies.

"About it being  _ yours, _ " Rick follows up sternly. "It's  _ my _ bag of guns."

"The bag was in the street," Guillermo reasons. "Anybody could come around and say it was theirs. I'm supposed to take your word? What's to stop my people from unloading on you right here and now and I take what's mine?"

"You could do that," Rick says calmly, turning his gaze to where T is stationed atop the neighboring building, sniper rifle ready. "Or not."

" _ Oyé! _ " Guillermo shouts, looking up.

I raise my eyes and watch as three men appear on the edge of the roof, one with a canvas bag over his head. One of the men on the roof tears the bag off Glenn's head, revealing our friend. He's whimpering through the duct tape placed over his mouth, the men holding his arms back as he stands precariously on the edge of the building.

"I see two options," Guillermo announces. "You come back with Miguel and my bag of guns, everybody walks. Or you come back locked and loaded. We'll see which side spills more blood."


	6. Felipe's a Good Boy

**Chapter 6**

He and Rick glare, each trying to stare the other down for several loaded moments before Guillermo and his men back away, retreating into the building and locking the door.

"Son of a fuckin' bitch," I curse, grabbing hold of Miguel and yanking him along with me as I stalk away. "Your friends are either stupid or don't value your life very much," I hiss into his ear.

We meet up with T-dog and dash into the first building we see. Rick empties the bag of guns, placing each on a desk in the office we've holed up in to discuss the best course of action.

"Them guns're worth more 'n gold," Daryl points out, pacing. "Gold won't protect your family or put food on the table. You willin' to give that up for that kid?"

"We're not just gonna take the guns and leave," I hiss.

"If I knew we'd get Glenn back I might agree," T-Dog says. "You think that vato across the way is just gonna hand him over?"

"You callin' G a liar?" Miguel pipes up.

"You a part of this?" Daryl demands, slapping Miguel's face. "You wanna hold onto your teeth?"

"The question is," T-Dog continues calmly. "Do you trust that man's word?"

"No, the question is what are you willin' to bet on it?" Daryl counters. "Could be more 'n them guns. Could be your life. Glenn worth that to you?"

"Glenn's the reason he's still standin'," I point out, glaring at Daryl.

"Yeah, you wanna keep it that way?" He fires back.

"We're here, already riskin' our lives to find Merle," I snap, eyes flashing. "Why's it different to risk the same for Glenn?"

Daryl crosses his arms defensively, holding my gaze for a moment, shame briefly clouding his features. He lowers his eyes, nodding quietly.

"What life I have, I owe to him," Rick says firmly. "I was nobody to Glenn, just some idiot stuck in a tank. He could've walked away, but he didn't. Neither will I."

"So you're gonna hand the guns over?" Daryl questions.

"He didn't say that."

"I didn't say that."

Rick and I speak at the same time. His gaze flickers to mine and I smirk knowingly as he dips his head in appreciation.

"There's nothin' keepin' you two here," he says, eyeing Daryl and T-Dog. "You should get out, head back to camp. Take Adrienne with you."

"And tell your family what?" T demands, rubbing his head in frustration.

"What're you gonna do, light the place up like it's the goddamn OK corral?" I scoff, staring Rick down. "'Cause that worked out so well for you last time?"

"I can't ask you to risk your lives!"

"There are _people_ in that building, Rick," I hiss. "Livin' people with _guns_ who can and _will_ shoot back and _,_ if by some miracle you _do_ get away, all that gunfire will've brought every geek in the city right to you. Then what're you gonna do? Injured and alone? You're not doin' this without us, asshole."

T-Dog sighs, looking down at me and I know him well enough now to know he's in. Rick eyes Daryl, who gives a curt nod to indicate his agreement before grabbing a gun. I get to my feet, leaving Miguel on the floor as Rick holds a rifle in my direction.

"Oh come on, this is nuts," Miguel whines, getting to his feet only to be pushed back to the floor by Daryl. "Just… just do like G says."

We have absolutely no intention of doing like G says. We march our way back to Guillermo's hideout, Miguel leading the way, prodded along by the gun Daryl has pressed into his back. The door opens as we approach, so we keep walking straight inside. We're surrounded by a dozen men, maybe more, most of whom are armed. It feels like suicide. Part of me is itching to pull the trigger.

"I see my guns," Guillermo states. "But they're not all in the bag."

"That's because they're not yours," Rick retorts. "I thought I mentioned that."

"Let's just shoot these fools right now,  _ esé, _ " one of the men from the alley, the receiver of Daryl's arrow, urges. "Alright? Unload on their asses,  _ esé! _ "

"Speakin' of asses, how's yours?" I retort, unable to help it.

Daryl's mouth twitches into a surprised half smirk in my periphery before his face hardens once more.

"I don't think you fully appreciate the gravity of the situation," Guillermo says insistently.

"No, I'm pretty clear," Rick states, pulling out a knife and cutting loose the tape binding Miguel's wrists together, allowing him to scurry behind Guillermo. "You have your man. I want mine."

"I'm gonna chop up your boy," Guillermo threatens. "I'm gonna feed him to my dogs. They're the evilest,  _ nastiest, _ man-eating bitches you ever saw. I picked 'em up from Satan at a yard sale," he snarls, stepping towards Rick. "I told you how it has to be, are you woefully deaf?"

"My hearing's fine. You said come locked and loaded," Rick says calmly as he, T, Daryl, and I cock our guns. "Okay then, we're here."

Before anyone can speak, never mind fire a shot, a small elderly woman comes shuffling into the room.

"Felipe! Felipe!"

" _ Abuela, _ go back with the others! Now!" Felipe orders as his grandmother takes in the guns.

"Get that old lady outta the line of fire!" Daryl commands.

" _ Abuela, _ " Guillermo says. "Listen to your  _ mijo, _ okay? This is not the place for you right now."

"But Mr. Gilbert is having trouble breathing!" She cries imploringly, her heavily accented voice thick with emotion. "He, he needs his medicine! He needs his asthma stuff! Carlito didn't find it! He needs his medicine."

"Felipe, go take care of it, okay?" Guillermo commands, voice strained. "And take your grandmother with you!"

Rick lowers his gun. T follows suit, but Daryl isn't ready to be that vulnerable yet and neither am I. Our weapons stay put as Felipe says something urgently in Spanish, trying to coax the woman from the room. But she is having none of it.

"Who are those men?" She demands, stalking towards Rick. "Don't you take him! Felipe's a good boy. He have his trouble, but he pull himself together. We need him here."

"Ma'am," Rick says awkwardly, shifting his weight. "I'm not here to arrest your grandson."

"Then what do you want him for?" She demands.

"He's… helpin' us find a missing person,'' Rick says defeatedly. "A fella named Glenn."

"The Asian boy?" Abuela questions, eyes alight with recognition. "He's with Mr. Gilbert! Come, come, I show you," she says happily, taking Rick by the hand and leading him safely through Guillermo's men. "He needs his medicine."

"Let 'em pass," Guillermo says, resignation heavy in his voice.

Daryl and I follow Rick, back to back, and T-Dog trails behind us. The stubborn little Abuela holds tightly to Rick's hand, leading us through the courtyard and up a set of concrete stairs outside the building. We follow her through two sets of double doors and, taking in our surroundings, it dawns on me what this place is. Elderly people are scattered throughout what appears to have been a senior center, some attended by younger men and women. We're led into a large room that at one point probably served as a dining room. In the center of all sorts of commotion is an elderly man Felipe is assisting with an inhaler.

"What the hell is this?" Rick asks Glenn, who is standing near the ailing man and doesn't appear to be any worse for wear.

"An asthma attack," Glenn states the obvious. "Couldn't get his breath all of a sudden."

"No shit?" I ask sarcastically, unable to stop the grin spreading across my face as I cross to Glenn and wrap my arms around him.

"We thought you were being eaten by dogs, man!" T snaps.

We spot a tiny Pomeranian and two tinier Chihuahuas in the corner of the room and they sure as hell don't look like the evilest, nastiest, man-eating bitches we've ever seen.

"Could I have a word with you?" Rick hisses, tugging Guillermo, who is standing sheepishly beside us, aside. "You're the dumbest son of a bitch I ever met."

I can't help it. I crouch down beside the would-be hellhounds and scratch each of them behind the ears, chuckling softly to myself as they compete for my attention, all wet noses and wagging tails. After a short, heated discussion, Guillermo leads Rick from the room, Daryl, Glenn, T-Dog and I following suit. Guillermo leads us into what used to be an employee lounge and settles onto a plush, floral armchair.

"What about the rest of your crew?" Rick questions.

"The vatos trickle in. To check on their parents, their grandparents," Guillermo replies. "They see how things are and most decide to stay. It's a good thing, too, we need the muscle. The people we've encountered since things fell apart… the worst kind. Plunderers, the kind that take by force."

"That's not who we are," Rick says adamantly.

"How was I to know?" Guillermo counters. "My people got attacked and you show up with Miguel hostage. Appearances."

"Guess the world changed," T pipes up from his seat in the corner.

"No," Guillermo replies. "It's the same as it ever was. The weak get taken."

As though on cue, my head begins to spin and I sway on my feet, the ache and the exhaustion catching up to me.

"Hey," Daryl whispers, blue eyes full of concern. "You okay?"

"Fine," I reply. "But I need to… I need to sit."

I lean against the wall for support and sink down, feeling Daryl's gaze on me as I place my head between my knees and will the dizziness away. Rick and Guillermo's voices sound tinny and distant, but they seem to have reached an understanding. They're splitting the guns. By the looks of this place, they could use some extra firepower.

"Good luck," Rick says, shaking Guillermo's hand.

I take that as a signal, sighing and lifting my head. Before I can rise, Daryl's hand darts down to mine. Looking up at him I can see he's not looking at me. He's staring straight ahead, chewing his lip, almost like he's afraid I won't accept the help or maybe like he's pretending not to give a shit one way or the other. I take his hand in mine and he pulls me gently to my feet.

"Thanks," I murmur.

He nods, dropping my hand, and we walk side by side from the building.

"Admit it," Glenn says as the five of us trek back to the van. "You only came back to Atlanta for the hat," he smirks, eyeing Rick's additional accessory.

"Don't tell anybody," Rick says gravely, eyes glimmering with humor.

"You've given away half our guns and ammo," Daryl says flatly.

"Not nearly half," Rick retorts.

"For what? Bunch of old farts gon' die off momentarily anyhow?" Daryl questions callously. "Seriously, how long you think they got?"

"How long do any of us?" Rick counters.

We come to a halt when we reach the spot our van should be and discover it's no longer there.

"Oh, my god," Glenn huffs, utter disbelief in his voice at the fact that not a single damn thing went right today.

"Where the hell's our van?" Daryl wonders aloud.

"We left it right there, who would take it?" Glenn asks angrily.

"Merle," I mutter.

It'd be just like him. I think of the burners, still lit, the blood trail… it wasn't dry. He knew we were here, waited us out. I'd bet on it. Without the van, we might not make it back to the quarry before dark.

"He's gonna be takin' some vengeance back to camp," Daryl says, eyes shifting to mine.

"Guess we better not waste time, then," I sigh, squaring my shoulders and walking ahead. "Gonna take us a lot longer on foot if y'all don't come the hell on," I call over my shoulder to the men still frozen in place.

-

We're making decent time, thankfully. The incline of the mountain is mild, thanks to a series of switchbacks, and the cloying heat is becoming a little more bearable as the sun sinks. To be safe, we broke into a run for the final couple miles. I'd take the heat over fighting off walkers in the dark. Still, the sun has set and darkness has fallen when a scream pierces the air. Then more screams. Gunshots.

"Oh, my god," Rick breathes as we all pick up the pace, tearing towards camp as quickly as we're able.

All hell has broken loose. Walkers are everywhere. Wasting no time, the five of us throw ourselves into the fray. We don't have the luxury of being stealthy, firing shot after shot into walker after walker in the chaos. As the gunfire dies down, most of the walkers having been taken care of, Rick tears into the arms of his wife and son. I sweep my eyes across the scene, taking a mental headcount. We've lost at least a dozen, Ed Peletier among them. Good riddance. He was an evil son of a bitch, if anyone deserves this, it's him. Scanning the area, my eyes fall upon Andrea, kneeling on the ground beside… oh, shit. Amy. A few of the others have noticed as well, staring in silent horror. The quiet is broken when Andrea begins to wail, terrible, heart wrenching sobs tearing from her throat as the rest of us just stand there, powerless to help.

Amy was bitten. She's gone.


	7. Zero Tolerance for Walkers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: implied past suicide attempt, death of a loved one, drug use.

**Chapter 7**

Despite the carnage and the loss, or maybe because of it, exhaustion has taken over. My knees buckle, and I'm falling, but T is right beside me.

"I can help," I protest, desperately trying to keep my eyes open.

"Shh."

He carries me into the RV and places me onto one of the beds in the back, where, in spite of myself, I promptly fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

-

When I emerge from the Winnebago the next morning, I take in the horror with fresh eyes, the most heartbreaking of which is Andrea, still kneeling beside her sister's body. I doubt she'd moved all night. I don't blame her. I wouldn't have either. I don't care much for Andrea, but I know how much she loved her sister and that loss weighs heavy on us all. I crouch down beside the sisters. Andrea doesn't move or speak, unable to tear her eyes from Amy's face. She'd been bitten twice, large chunks of flesh missing from her forearm and neck. She'd bled out, most of her white blonde hair stained rust under the dried blood. It's surreal. Not three days ago she'd been bitching about how low we were on toilet paper, griping like the teen she was. So alive, and so damn resilient that, even though the world as we knew it is over, she was concerned about something as trivial as toilet paper.

"I'm so sorry, Andrea," I whisper softly.

I hear a grunt and turn towards the sound, eyes falling upon Daryl pulling pickaxe from the head of one of the fallen. Making sure he stays dead. Daryl's alive. Relief floods through my being and, in the same instance, I'm ashamed of it. Today is a day of mourning and I'm glad to see Daryl fucking Dixon? I barely know the man. What the fuck is wrong with me? Must've hit my head damn hard the day before last. Glenn and T-Dog lift a dead walker from the ground, tossing it onto a pile of burning bodies. The stench permeates everything. I get to my feet and head towards Rick, Shane, and Lori, who are all standing around the smoldering remains of the fire from last night.

"What can I do to help?" I ask, looking from Shane to Rick.

"Andrea won't move," Shane says gruffly.

"I'm not sure I blame her," I reply solemnly.

"Y'all can't be serious," Daryl scoffs, joining us at the pit, pickaxe in hand. "You gon' let that girl hamstring us? The dead girl's a time bomb."

"What do you suggest?" Rick questions flatly.

"Take the shot," Daryl says simply. "Clean, in the brain, from here. Hell, I can hit a turkey between the eyes from this distance."

"She's not a  _ turkey, _ Daryl," I point out.

"For god's sake, let her be," Lori adds.

Daryl looks from me to Lori, back to me. He turns, scoffing. I follow him.

"Daryl, wait," I blurt.

"What do you want?" He demands, not bothering to look at me as he continues his stride.

"Look, I get it," I murmur softly, trailing him past Jim. "I get that if we don't… take care of Amy, she'll turn. But it needs to be done respectfully. The right way."

"Wake up, Jimbo, we got some work to do," he huffs, blatantly ignoring me.

"Daryl," I touch his elbow and he freezes. "She just needs a little more time."

He turns his head, squinting at me before abruptly wheeling around, quickly walking away without a word, to help Morales lift one of our dead and drag him towards the burning walkers.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Glenn hisses frantically, stopping the men in their tracks. "What're you guys doing? This is for geeks. Our people go over there."

"What's the difference?" Daryl demands. "They're all infected."

"Our people go in that row over there," Glenn insists, tears falling from his almond eyes. "We don't burn them! We bury them. Understand?"

Daryl stares him down for a moment before relenting, bending to drag the body toward the row Glenn had indicated.

"You reap what you sow," he huffs, he and Morales depositing the body in the proper place.

"You know what, shut up man!" Morales shouts.

"Y'all left my brother for dead!" Daryl yells vehemently, stalking away. "You had this comin'!"

His eyes meet mine briefly as he passes, and I'm frozen in place by the rage I can feel emanating from him, rolling off his skin in waves. He sneers, wandering off to do whatever the hell he does to get himself back in check. I can't argue with him. Hell, no one can. Yeah, he's being insensitive, but he lost his brother and it  _ is _ our fault and nobody seems to give a shit about that. Of course he's pissed. Sighing, I walk towards Jacqui, intending to help her with a body she's struggling with on her own, but I'm intercepted by Jim.

"Are you bleedin'?" Jacqui asks, eyeing the stains on his t-shirt.

"I just got some on me from the bodies," Jim replies defensively.

"That blood looks fresh!" Jacqui accuses. "Were you bit?"

"No," Jim insists, breathing heavily as he bends to assist her with the body on the ground. "I got scratched during the attack."

"You got bit!" Jacqui exclaims, rising.

"I'm fine."

"Then show me!"

"Jim…" I say gently, placing my hand on his shoulder.

He's burning up. The fever. That's the first sign.

"Don't tell, please," he whispers, pleading.

"A walker got him!" Jacqui cries, backing away in a panic. "A walker bit Jim!"

Several of the group converge upon us, Rick, Daryl, and T-Dog among them. Jim clutches me in front of him like a shield, fear radiating off him as Daryl approaches with the pickaxe.

"Shh," I attempt to soothe the man behind me, taking his hand in mine and moving to stand at his side. "It's okay."

"Show it to us!" Daryl commands, striding towards Jim. "Show it to us!"

Jim panics, snatching a shovel from the ground and pulling me to his body, the long, wooden handle across my neck. He's terrified, using me as a shield.

"Jim, let her go," Rick warns. "Let her go, put the shovel down."

"Go on, now, Jim," Shane orders. "You let her go."

He's not listening. They're gonna hurt him, shoot him dead right here if he doesn't let me go. I do the only thing I can think to do and jab my elbow into his ribs, right where he's bleeding, and slip out from under the shovel, leaving him howling in pain. T-Dog wrests the shovel from his grasp and tosses it aside, yanking his arms behind his back.

"Easy, Jim!" Shane says sternly.

"Grab him!" Daryl shouts.

I step aside, out of their way. Daryl tugs Jim's shirt up, revealing a nasty bite just below his ribs.

"I'm okay," Jim protests weakly. "I'm okay."

Daryl and T skitter back as though they've been electrocuted, the rest of the group keeping their distance as well. I pull the injured man into a hug, his chest heaving against mine as he begins to sob.

"I'm okay," he chokes repeatedly, face buried in my neck.

"Shh…" I soothe, cradling him as tears flow freely from my own eyes.

*Daryl's POV*

Jim's as good as dead already. Infected. It's coursing through his veins right now, and still Adrienne holds him to her like he's a wailing infant jonesing for the fucking teat. Let her. If she gets infected, too, it's her own damn fault. Scoffing, I follow Rick and the others to discuss a plan of action. Ain't much to discuss though. It's the same result, no matter how you go about it. He's a dead man walking.

"I say we put a pickaxe in his head," I state, glaring at the group around me. " _ And _ the dead girl's, be done with it."

"That what you want, if it were you?" Shane questions, eyeing me.

"Yeah, and I'd thank you while you did it," I retort.

If it were me, I'd do it my fucking self. I ain't gonna turn into one of those things.

"I hate to say it, I never thought I would, but maybe Daryl's right," Dale announces.

Whatever, as long as he agrees.

"Jim's not a monster, Dale, and not some rabid dog," Rick spits.

"I'm not suggesting-" Dale begins.

"He's sick!" Rick interrupts. "A  _ sick _ man. We start down that road, where do we draw the line?"

"Line's pretty clear," I spit. "Zero tolerance for walkers. Or them to be."

"What if we can get him help?" Rick questions. "I heard the CDC was working on a cure."

"I heard that, too, heard a lot of things before the world went to hell," Shane inputs.

"What if the CDC's still up and running?" Rick asks.

"Man, that is a stretch right there," Shane counters.

"Why?" Rick demands. "If there's any government left, any, any structure at all, they'd protect the CDC at all costs, wouldn't they? I think it's our best shot. Shelter, protection-"

That's a hell of a gamble. Going into the city. Again. Ain't nothin' there for us. It'd be better to keep to the woods, find higher ground.

"Okay, Rick, you want those things, all right?" Shane argues. "I do, too, okay? Now if they exist, they're at the army base. Fort Benning."

"That's 100 miles in the opposite direction," Lori points out.

"That is right," Shane agrees. "But it's away from the hot zone. Now listen to me, if that place is operational it'll be heavily armed. We'd be safe there."

"If the military were on the front lines of this thing," Rick begins. "They got overrun, we've all seen that! The CDC's our best choice and Jim's only chance."

I turn to look behind me where Adrienne sits, still holding onto Jim protectively. Naive girl. Fuckin' clueless. But there's something in her eyes, a fierceness in her tenderness that intrigues me. Jesus, she makes me nervous. Suddenly those eyes snap up, catch me staring like some kinda slack jawed idiot. I avert my gaze immediately, maybe she won't have noticed. Yeah. Right. Girl like that? Of course she noticed.

"You go lookin' for aspirin, do what you  _ need _ to do,'' I huff, turning back to Rick. "Someone needs to have some balls and take care of this damn problem!" I shout, anger surging through my body as I hurl myself at Jim.

Adrienne jumps in front of him and I can't stand the look in her eyes. Accusatory. Glaring at me like I'm the bad guy. I can't look at her. I think I hate her. Why is she always in my way?

*Adrienne's POV*

"Someone needs to have some balls and take care of this damn problem!"

Daryl's voice cuts through the air like a whip as he lunges towards Jim and I, pickaxe raised. I leap to my feet, glaring at Daryl as I place myself between his pickaxe and the sick man behind me. Jim's not dead yet, I'll be damned if I'm gonna let anybody hurt him. Rick steps behind Daryl, gun cocked and aimed at the back of his head. I keep my eyes on Daryl, willing him to look me directly in the eye but he won't. God damn it. Why does he make things so hard for himself? Shadowing Merle, parroting him in some ways. Is this really the way he wants to be?

"We don't kill the living," Rick states lowly.

"That's funny comin' from a man who just put a  _ gun _ to my head," Daryl counters, turning to Rick and lowering his weapon.

"We may disagree on some things," Shane says, stepping between Daryl and me. "Not on this. You put it down. Go on."

Daryl apparently decides it's not worth the aggravation, violently jamming the pickaxe into the ground and striding away.

"Come with me," Rick says, taking Jim by the arm.

"Where are you takin' him?"

"Where are you taking me?"

Jim and I speak at the same time, my arms crossed in front of me. Rick gives me a look that says don't argue.

"Somewhere safe," he says imploringly, looking into my eyes.

I nod, squeezing Jim's hand as Rick leads him into the Winnebago. I stay for a moment, fingers toying with the cuff of my left sleeve. Not really aware of what I'm doing, I scratch absently at the jagged scar that vertically runs the length of my forearm. Nervous habit. I know loss. I know what it's like to lose someone you loved. My mama had been killed in a hit and run five years ago. I was 22 years old, working as a cashier at our local Big Spot, playing bars and cafés on weekends. Mama was my lifeline. When I buried her, I had no family left, not really. I was alone. I had no purpose, my life was pointless.

When I was 17, I'd been dating a man twice my age and then some. He introduced me to cocaine, promised me it would make me feel invincible. It did. I don't think I was addicted, not really. Not to the coke. I was addicted to the way he looked at me when we used, the way he'd ravage my body afterwards. The way he made me feel something that wasn't rage. I was addicted to the tremor in his voice when he told me he loved me. Then I found the pictures. Pictures of me sleeping, walking to school, pictures of me at all my games, at practices, at swim meets. But I wasn't the only one. There were pictures of Hayley, too. A year younger than me, with brown sugar skin and eyes like gold fringed with thick, black lashes. My best friend, my teammate, doing all the same shit I was doing in those glossy images, hidden in a binder in his office, only… only she was doing other things, too. We'd gotten in a fight. Beaten the shit out of each other in the locker room one afternoon after volleyball practice. That's how Simms found out. That's how everyone found out.

Mama started making me go to therapy again, back to Sylvia for the few more months I could still legally be considered a child. Without school, without sports, I started playing music more often, and when I started playing music around others... I became important. People invited me to parties, and holy shit, I partied hard. I stole. I used. I had sex with men who meant less than nothing to me just so I could feel something,  _ anything _ other than shame or guilt or that fucking  _ fury  _ for a night or two. Feel what I thought it might be like to love someone. Then I'd wake up, guilty and emptier than before, and I'd go off chasing the next high. Funny how love is always over in the morning, huh?

Still, mama had faith in me. She didn't give up, even after I betrayed her trust a thousand times. It wasn't easy. We fought all the time, every step of the fucking way, but I was  _ trying. _ I was getting better. She helped me pull myself together, got me that job at the Big Spot 'cause she knew the general manager. I was okay. I was going to therapy, I was trying not to let her down. Mama accused me of trying to send her to an early grave several times. Not once did I think she'd been right. Until the night I called her crying from a payphone at a gas station down the road from a party I'd played, hours after it had ended, not knowing how I'd gotten there. No keys, no shoes, no wallet. No underwear.

_I only had one drink and, mama, I swear I'm not on anything, but I don't feel very good._ _Can you come get me?_

She didn't hesitate. Maybe if she had she'd still be breathing. But she's not and it's my fault. A week after the funeral I decided. My life was worth far less than my mother's, it wasn't fair that I was still living it when she wasn't. They found me bleeding out in my bathtub. My landlord, Hank, had received a complaint about flooding from my downstairs neighbor, had come up to my apartment to see what the hell I was up to. He'd let himself in when he couldn't get me to answer the door or my phone, called the police when he found me. I hated him for it. He saved my life when I wanted to die. I was rushed to the ER, stitched up and replenished before being tossed into the adult psychiatric unit at Grady Memorial Hospital in Atlanta.

I remained there for 3 months. Once I cared enough to play the system, I got out. Said I was finally feeling better. That I didn't feel a hundred percent, but I had hope. Gave them a practiced half smile, careful not to overdo it, giving them just enough to convince them I was coping. I was released that day, and that night I moved in with a man I'd met in the psych ward named Christopher Davies. Chris wasn't depressed or suicidal. He was an addict. Sex, drugs, he wasn't picky. He was kind enough to offer me his couch in exchange for my body. I didn't mind. Anything to feel something,  _ anything  _ but the guilt.

We were both high when the dead began to walk. I'd escaped through the window of the apartment we'd shared for years when the body of a friend had crawled out of the bathroom and sunk his teeth into Chris's neck. It was the worst kind of nightmare, come to life. I later realized what had happened to Ian. Chris's friend, really. He must have been bitten or scratched. We just didn't notice. Then he OD'd. Died right there in our bathroom while we sat just feet away, oblivious. Shane found me on the road. I'd run until I couldn't anymore and collapsed, fleeing the bombs in the city. I suppose I really owe Carl. The boy insisted they stop to help me.  _ 'It's what dad would do,' _ Lori had quoted him later, the ghost of a smile on her face. I've been with them since. Oddly enough, being part of this group saved me. I have a reason to exist. 

Carl, Sophia, Amy. The other kids. I became someone they could come talk to. Vent without worrying I'd tell them they were wrong to feel the way they did, or worse, snitch to their parents. Shane likes to joke I'm the Pied Piper of the camp, the kids trailing behind me like the rats in the classic fable. All I need is a flute.

The world as we knew it has collapsed, the Earth herself giving way to the dead. And I've never felt this close to human. This  _ alive. _ Now I have a reason.


	8. Amy's Swimming Days are Over

**Chapter 8**

I'm broken from my reverie by a strangled sounding sob followed by the wet thunk of something sharp piercing through dead flesh. I glance in the direction of the sound, shocked to see Carol pulling Daryl's pickaxe from Ed's skull, Daryl watching as she ensures her dead husband stays completely and undeniably dead. Pushing my hair from my eyes, I watch her wield the pickaxe, struggling with its weight but nonetheless bringing it down on Ed's face repeatedly, over and over again until his features are an indistinguishable mass of bloody tissue. I might have been disturbed, but it isn't a secret that Ed had abused his wife to the point that Carol's a hollow shell, terrified of everything. Isolated. I don't know much about the woman, she's almost devoid of any personality and the few times she'd let anything show, Ed was there to cut her right back down to size. God forbid she have friends. She might realize she's worth a shit. Good riddance. Maybe she'll make something of herself now that she's free.

After she's made damn sure there will be no coming back for Ed, I cautiously step towards her, gently placing a hand on her shoulder and taking the gore-slicked pickaxe from her hands. Shaking, she lifts her eyes to mine. I offer her a sad smile, trying to let her know without words that I understand. I don't think she's a monster for wanting to make sure. Her teary eyes soften and she nods, glancing at the real monster at her feet one last time before turning away to find Sophia. Daryl and I each take an end of the body, having made the unspoken decision to lay him near our other dead, if for no other reason than that Sophia shouldn't have to watch her daddy burn. She's just a kid. She still loves him. Once he's been dealt with, Daryl and I straighten back up. He looks at me, not quite in the eyes, and opens his mouth like he's gonna say something.

Before he can utter a syllable, though, a single shot rings through the air and both our gazes land on Amy's body going limp in her sister's arms. She turned. Andrea took care of it. My heart breaks for her, knowing she'll never get over this loss. Pretty words and apologies don't mean shit.

"I'm gon' bring the truck around," Daryl mutters, breaking the deafening silence.

"I'll wait. Help you load 'em," I respond, not taking my eyes off Andrea.

Daryl doesn't reply, just does what he said he was gonna do. That's one of the good things about him. When he says he's gonna do something, he just does it. No bullshit. He brings the truck around as Andrea and Dale place Amy's body next to the others.

"We should wrap 'em," I suggest solemnly. "Dale, do you have spare sheets?"

Dale nods silently, eyes fixed on Andrea. He turns, striding into the Winnebago and reappearing seconds later with a whole stack of thin, white sheets.

"My wife…" he trails off, looking at the pile of sheets in his hands. "She liked to be prepared."

We get to work, Andrea and Dale setting sheets out, Daryl and I placing the bodies and wrapping them inside, loading each one carefully into the truck bed. Daryl is surprisingly gentle with all but Ed, whom he scowls at as we wrap his mangled body.

"Piece of shit," he huffs bitterly.

I nod in agreement as we load his body into the truck. Andrea wanted to take care of Amy on her own, gently wrapping her sister in the last sheet. Dale attempts to help lift her into the truck but Andrea waves him off, stubbornly hefting her sister into the bed, kissing Amy's covered head as her tears start anew. While Daryl closes up the truck, I climb into the passenger side. He slides in behind the wheel a moment later, eyeing me questioningly. I stare straight ahead, not bothering with an explanation. He says nothing, throwing the truck into drive and heading up the hill to where Shane and Rick have been digging graves. He puts the truck in park and we step out, Shane acknowledging us with a nod.

"I still think it's a mistake not burning these bodies," Daryl announces, striding towards the men with shovels. "It's what we said we'd do, right? Burn 'em all?"

We did. That was before we knew how close we'd become. It's the end of the world. The thirty or so people who are or had been part of our camp may as well be the only people left. Merle and Daryl could be a part of that if they'd just fucking try a little.

"At first," Shane assents.

"The Chinaman gets all emotional, says it's not the thing to do, we just follow him along?" Daryl questions incredulously. 

"Korean," I correct, earning me a glare.

"These people need to know who the hell's in charge here," Daryl continues, ignoring me. "What the  _ rules _ are."

"There are no rules," Rick mutters as Lori approaches, she and the others having arrived for the burial.

"Well that's a problem," she states curtly. "We haven't had one minute to hold onto anything of our old selves. We need time to mourn, and we need to bury our dead. It's what people do."

So we do. We stand and watch as those who lost loved ones place their dead into the graves. Mourning. Paying respects to the lives lost. I can't help my thoughts from wandering to my own mama. There's a small comfort in knowing that she didn't have to witness the world she loved turned upside down. She loved life. This would have killed her. Andrea lowers Amy into the ground, insisting she can do it on her own, but Dale never strays far from her. Amy's death hits me pretty hard. She'd been such a young spirit. Seeing someone so alive, someone with so much potential just… snuffed out. It's not right. I sniff, wiping the tears from my eyes bitterly. Then a small hand takes mine. Carl looks up at me, tears glistening in his eyes. He adored Amy. He tugs me closer to him and Lori, squeezing my hand tight. I squeeze back and let the tears fall.

As the group moves away from our mass grave, Lori and Rick hang back a moment, Lori gently pushing Carl in my direction. Lori and I aren't friends, not exactly, but she tolerates me because her son now considers me an extension of his family, like I'm the boozy aunt who ruins Thanksgiving or something, and I've proven that I'll protect him. The little boy places his hand in mine and we walk back to the vehicles together.

"Adie," he says thoughtfully. "Is Jim gonna be okay?"

"I hope so, bud," I say fervently, squeezing his hand and trying to crack a smile for the benefit of the child looking to me for some kind of comfort. "I hope so."

When we get back to camp, there's not a lot to be said. I leave Carl with Glenn and Sophia and trail Rick and Lori into the RV, where Carol is tending to Jim.

"How you feelin', Jim?" I question, taking a seat on the bunk across from him.

"His fever's worse," Carol informs us.

"You need anything?" Lori asks.

"Uh… water," Jim mutters, breathless and sweating. "Could use more water."

"I'll get some," Lori says warmly, reaching for Carol's hand. "Carol, you help me?"

Of course she will. Carol doesn't argue, not with anyone. Not ever. She and Lori leave and I take Carol's place on the end of Jim's bunk.

"You save a grave for me?" He questions as Rick settles onto the other bunk.

"Nobody wants that," Rick murmurs.

"It's not about what you want," Jim counters. "That uh, that sound you hear? That's God laughing while you make plans."

God. Religion is a touchy subject for me, and my immediate impulse is to scoff, but I'm not gonna deny a man on his deathbed of something that comforts him, even if it is a crock of shit. If, indeed, God  _ does  _ exist, I suspect he laughs quite often.

"What I want, Jim, if… if God allows," Rick begins. "Is to get you some help."

Whatever response Jim had formulated in his head, we don't get to hear it. He starts to cough, violently hacking, and he can't stop. I snatch the pot Carol had left on the table and hold it where he can reach without too much effort. He continues to cough, spitting into the pot. His saliva is tinged with blood, crimson streaks through the otherwise clear liquid. He sits back with a groan, seemingly finished, but I leave the pot resting on his lap, just in case.

"Watch the mangroves," he blurts. "Their roots will gouge the whole boat. You know that, right?"

I exchange a startled glance with Rick. He's hallucinating, maybe from the fever, maybe from the infection, but Jim is somewhere else entirely.

"Amy is there," he continues, staring into Rick's worried eyes. "Swimming. You'll watch the boat, right? You  _ said _ you would."

"I'll watch the boat," Rick promises.

What else can he say? That there is no boat, that Amy's swimming days are over? He'll watch the boat.

"Okay," Jim nods, satisfied.

Before anything else can be said, sane or otherwise, Carol has returned with a full canteen and a packet of aspirin from the first aid kit we'd managed to scavenge on our last run. Rick and I stay a couple more minutes, just long enough to make sure Jim takes the medicine and gets some water into his system, before we get to our feet and silently make our way from the RV.

"I guess I'll just add it to the list of habits that I'm breaking," Shane hisses, just as I emerge in the doorway, Rick on my heels. "Whether I like it or not."

We seem to have stumbled upon Shane and Lori having some kind of argument. It's just a matter of time before Rick finds out what's been going on, and it's definitely not my business or my problem, but I still feel guilty not telling him. Shane eyes me warily, like he can read my thoughts and isn't sure whether I'm gonna air out his proverbial dirty laundry or not.

"What habits?" Rick questions, brows knit in confusion.

"Just talkin' about my need for a  _ plan, _ man,'' Shane mutters. "So what is it? Are we leavin' or not? Maybe y'all just wanna stay here. We could hang some more tin cans."

"Hey!" I snap. "Those cans work fine when y'all aren't havin' goddamned potlucks over roarin' fires, drawin' 'em here."

The tin cans were my idea. We strung them together and hung them all around the perimeter. Homemade walker alarms. They walk right into them. The noise isn't much, but it's enough. It's enough when we're not having some kind of fucking party, like Shane and the rest were last night. That's what brought on the geeks, why there were so many.

"We can't stay here," Rick sighs. "We all know that."

"I was just telling Shane, I think we need to trust your gut," Lori says quickly, and it's all I can do not to scoff.

"I need to sit," I huff, turning abruptly and stalking away from the menage-a-trois clusterfuck.

I join the circle around the fire pit, where everyone gathers while Shane, Rick, and Dale sweep the perimeter. T-Dog settles into a camp chair next to me, bumping me with his shoulder. I lean into him with a sigh, resting my head on his chest.

"You're workin' too hard,'' he informs me. "You should be resting."

"I'm fine," I assure him. "I can handle a little pain, you know. Quit treatin' me like a damn lady."

"Well, _excuse_ _me,_ ma'am," he rolls his eyes, then turns contemplative. "What the hell do we do now?"

"Wait, I suppose," I respond, assessing the people around me.

Most everyone is seated and silent. Andrea is sleeping, finally, curled in on herself in one of the chairs. She's a grown adult, but she looks so small. Fragile in that way sleeping children look. Glenn is leaning over a chair across from me, but my gaze inadvertently settles on the surly man pacing to the right of him. My eyes follow Daryl until he suddenly snaps his head up, watching me watch him. He scoffs, glaring at me before shifting his angry gaze to T, his eyes hardening. Jesus. Embarrassed I've been caught looking  _ again, _ I bury my reddening face into T's chest as Rick, Shane, and Dale file back into the camp.

"I've been uh… I've been thinkin' about Rick's plan," Shane announces, kneeling on one knee near the center of the circle. "Now look, there are no uh, there are no guarantees either way. I'll be the first one to admit that. I've known this man a long time. I trust his instincts."

I glower over at Shane. Sanctimonious bullshit. That's what he's feeding us right now. Trying to be the bigger man for Lori's benefit, at the expense of his supposed best friend. And I'm still pissed he knocked my cans. They're effective when you're careful.

"I say the most important thing here is we need to stay together," he continues, looking from face to face. "So. Those of you that agree, we leave first thing in the morning. Okay?"

No one argues and when the sun sets, we all separate into our various cars and tents to at least attempt to get a little sleep before the journey tomorrow. The city. It's insane. It's  _ insane _ to go back to Atlanta. But Fort Benning is insane, too. The military were overrun here, what the hell makes Shane think it'll be any different a hundred miles away? T and I walk side by side, ducking into our shared tent and each sinking into our sleeping bags.

"Adie?" He whispers after a few minutes.

"Yeah?"

"You think the CDC’s the right way to go?"

"I don't know," I sigh, turning my body towards his. "I guess it's worth a shot. No matter which direction we go, we're riskin', and the CDC's closer. We sure as hell can't stay here. We're too exposed."

"I hope you're right," he sighs, and with that we settle in with our own thoughts.

I find myself thinking about Daryl, which is happening with more and more frequency lately. It feels wrong, especially given the hellish events of the last 24 hours, and I try unsuccessfully to stash the bowman away at the back of my mind.

*Daryl's POV*

I don't know what the hell kinda point Shane's trying to prove here, but it would seem he and Rick have decided we're taking a chance on the CDC. It's one hell of a gamble but, without Merle, if I choose not to go with them I'm on my own out here. Christ. I'm pacing the camp, too wired to sleep just yet. My thoughts stray from my brother, mind inexplicably turning to thoughts of a certain redhead. How the hell does she stand this heat? Her curls seem to forever be in the way. She used to wear it up, piled all on top of her head, but she don't now. Someone should find that girl a rubber band or something. I don't understand how someone so soft gets shit done like she does. She's tougher than hell, sure as shit tougher than she looks. She looks at me like she gets it, like she sees right through me. I hate it. Girls like her don't know shit. Privileged. She knows what she looks like, she has to. Pretty girls get what they want without any real effort. Merle always says they're only good for one thing. Is she really stupid enough to believe a prick like Shane would have plucked her ass off the road if she wasn't shit to look at?

Still, she's the only person who went back to Atlanta for the sole purpose of bringing back my brother. Rick wanted the guns. Merle was an afterthought. T-Dog went to ease his own guilt and, from the looks of it, probably to keep Adrienne safe. Glenn… he came 'cause Rick asked. Unwittingly, I've begun to wander in the direction of my tent, and hushed voices interrupt my train of thought. Adrienne and T-Dog, having a conversation in the tent they share directly across from mine and Merle's. Her words from earlier echo around my skull. _ Quit treatin' me like a damn lady.  _ I don't know why, but something about them words coming outta  _ that _ mouth did something weird to my gut. Like somebody attached a drawstring to the inside and pulled it tight. Then the look in her eyes, when I accidentally looked at her and she was just watching me… she knows what the fuck she's doing, she has to. That girl is temptation. I hate her.

The whispers and Merle's empty sleeping bag just reinforce how alone I truly am. My brother didn't come back for me. Lit out, didn't bother leaving me a sign or nothin'. He just  _ left. _ My throat constricts, hot, angry tears burning in my eyes. I sink to the ground, somewhat thankful I'm alone for this. I don't want any of them pricks to know this shit gets to me. By the time the tears slow, I've made up my mind. Merle ain't coming back. He's just like when we were kids. Merle survives because Merle puts  _ Merle _ first. Merle gets by fine without other people 'cause he fucking  _ chooses _ to, not 'cause it's easier. I don't have to choose that anymore. I'll go with Rick and the others to the CDC.


	9. It Was Nice While it Lasted

**Chapter 9**

*Adrienne's POV*

"Alright, everybody listen up," Shane says, standing beside Rick at the head of the group. "Those of you with CBs, we're gonna be on channel 40. But let's keep the chatter down, okay? Yes, I am talkin' about you, Adrienne." 

"Suck it, Walsh," I hiss, earning a half-hearted chuckle from a few of our group.

"Now you got a problem," Shane continues. "You don't have a CB, can't get a signal, anything at all, you're gonna hit your horn one time. That'll stop the caravan. Any questions?"

"We're uh… we're not going," Morales blurts.

A silence settles over the group at his announcement, I think we're all half expecting him to say he's joking, which would be in poor taste, but still better than actually going out on their own.

"Not goin'?" I question incredulously when it becomes clear they're serious.

"We have family in Birmingham," Morales's wife, Miranda, explains. "We wanna be with our people."

"You go on your own, you won't have anyone to watch your back," Shane replies calmly.

"We'll take the chance," Morales says with finality. "I gotta do what's best for my family."

"You sure?" Rick asks him, giving him one more chance to change his mind.

"We talked about it," he says, Miranda nodding beside him. "We're sure."

"Alright," Rick says softly. "Shane?" He questions, crouching to root through the gun bag.

"Yeah, all right," Shane agrees.

".357?" Rick asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah."

Rick pulls a handgun from the bag and presents it to Morales, Shane following with a box of ammo.

"Box is half full," Shane says.

Daryl scoffs, frustration radiating off him in waves. I push my hair from my eyes, gaze settling on Carl. He's watching the Morales family prepare to leave, crying quietly. I walk over to where he's sitting, crouching beside the boy and snuggling him to me, letting him bury his face in my neck, tears soaking into my hair.

"Thank you all for everything," Miranda says sincerely as Lori pulls the smaller woman into a hug, turning to drop kisses to the tops of little Eliza and Louis's heads. I release Carl from my grasp, nudging him gently towards his friends. The children hold each other, realizing they may never see each other again. They're too young for this kind of heartache.

"Channel 40 if you change your mind," Rick reminds Morales. "All right?"

"Yeah," Morales acknowledges, clearly having no intention of changing his mind.

"What makes you think our odds are any better?" Shane asks grimly as they climb into their car and head out. "Come on. Let's go. Let's move out!"

I'm riding shotgun with T-Dog, just behind Rick, a car length ahead of Daryl. Dale and Glenn are leading the way in the RV and Shane is bringing up the rear. I find myself glancing at the mirrors quite often, eyes drawn to the redneck reflected in the glass. I half expected him to ditch us. After what feels like only minutes, we're pulled over, steam hissing from the inner workings of the Winnebago.

"I told you we'd never get far on that hose," Dale points out, eyeing Rick. "I said I needed the one from the cube van."

"Can you jury-rig it?" Rick questions.

"That's all it's been so far, it's more duct tape than hose," Dale says. "And I'm outta duct tape."

"I see somethin' up ahead,'' Shane says, lowering his binoculars. "Gas station if we're lucky."

"Y'all!" Jacqui cries, bounding from the RV. "Jim, it's bad, I don't think he can take anymore," she finishes, breathing heavily as she turns and walks away.

"Hey Rick, you wanna hold down the fort?" Shane questions. "I'll drive ahead, see what I can bring back."

"Yeah, I'll come along, too," T volunteers, looking through the binoculars. "And I'll back you up."

"Y'all keep your eyes open now, we'll be right back," Shane says, he and T-Dog hopping into the Jeep and driving off.

As they speed away, Rick heads into the RV to check on Jim. The rest of us just kinda stand around dumbly, unsure what to do while we're stopped.

"Well," I sigh eventually, kicking a rock off the road and into the grass. "This blows."

This elicits a startled giggle from Carol, which is so shocking I can't help but grin at the woman I've barely even seen crack a smile until now. I step to the side of the road, bending forward at the waist and shaking my hair out, wiping the sweat from the back of my neck, wishing desperately that my last hair tie hadn't snapped last week. I lift my head, tipping my face to the sky, gathering my hair in my hands and holding it against the top of my scalp. I stretch from side to side, then let my hair fall as I turn back to the Winnebago, nearly plowing right into Daryl.

"Sorry," I mutter awkwardly, flushing crimson as I take in his facial expression and wonder how long he'd been behind me.

He just grunts, averting his eyes and chewing his thumb.

"So," I begin, not really knowing what to say, but before I can find it Shane is pulling up with T and a fresh roll of duct tape.

Rick emerges from the RV a moment later, sighing heavily and giving us all a recap of the conversation he'd just had with Jim.

"It's what he says he wants," he says sadly, referring to Jim's request that we leave him here.

I scratch absently at my scar through my flannel. Daryl gives me a strange look and I drop my hands to my sides.

"And he's lucid?" Carol questions.

"He seems to be," Rick murmurs, looking down at the hat in his hands. "I would say yes."

"Back in the camp," Dale says, shaking his head. "When I said Daryl might be right and you shut me down… you misunderstood. I would never go along with callously  _ killing _ a man. I was just gonna suggest that we ask Jim what he wants. And I think we have an answer."

"We just leave him here?" Shane questions. "We take off? Man, I'm not sure I could live with that."

"It's not up to any of us," I point out solemnly, looking up at Shane. "It's Jim's choice."

"She's right," Lori agrees. "It's not your call. Either one of you."

At this, Dale busies himself fixing the radiator hose as best he can while the rest of us wait around, unable to do a goddamn thing to help our dying friend.

"Hey," T greets me, settling down on the ground beside me.

"Hey," I murmur, kicking a loose bit of asphalt into the grass.

"I, uh… I brought you somethin','' he informs me, producing a rubber band from his pocket. "For your hair. Havin' it down all the time… it's hot, man."

"Thanks," I grin, genuinely touched he'd thought of me.

I take the band, holding it between my teeth as I gather my unruly locks into a heap on top of my head. I hold the mass of hair in one hand, stretching the band around the bun in the other. Quite suddenly, the taut band snaps and goes flying, disappearing into the grass on the side of the road. My eyes flicker to T-Dog's and I can't help the giggle that escapes my lips.

"Well, shit," I sigh. "It was nice while it lasted."

Once we're ready to get back on the road, Rick and Shane ease Jim gently from the RV and carry him carefully to a tree a short distance up the embankment.

"Hey," Jim quips, breathing heavily, his eyes flickering skyward. "Another damn tree."

"Hey, Jim," Shane says, leaning over him. "I mean, you know it doesn't need to be this."

"No," Jim counters, closing his eyes. "It's good. The breeze feels nice."

"Okay," Shane relents with a sigh. "All right."

He backs away, clearing a space for Jacqui to crouch in front of Jim.

"Just close your eyes, sweetie," she says softly. "Don't fight."

She kisses his cheek, sniffing as the tears begin to flow.

"Jim," Rick says, taking Jacqui's place, offering the dying man a small pistol. "Do you want this?"

"No," Jim says, looking into Rick's eyes. "You'll need it. I'm okay. I'm okay."

"Hey," Dale murmurs, replacing Rick at Jim's feet. "Thanks for uh, for fighting for us."

Once Dale's said his goodbyes, I stumble towards Jim, falling to my knees beside him and taking his hand gently in mine. I can't help but feel I've failed him somehow. Like this is my fault.

"I'm sorry," I choke out, sobs wracking my body.

"Hey…" Jim says softly. "Hey. Look at me."

I raise my eyes to his, tears flowing freely down my cheeks.

"Shh…" he shushes me, smiling weakly. " _ Thank you. _ You fought for me. I'm ready to go now, though. I'm happy."

Nodding, I press a kiss to his clammy forehead and squeeze his hand one more time before turning to see Daryl waiting for me, a look of sorrow I've never seen on his face before. Like he actually gives a shit about the man on the ground. He looks up at Jim, nodding a quick farewell as I make my way down the hill towards T-Dog's van, and follows me down, keeping a close distance, probably afraid I'm gonna fall or some shit. I'm not. I walk right past T, hastily climbing into the van as my entire body gives way to the grief coursing through my system, collapsing in on myself.

*Daryl's POV*

I watch Adrienne pay her respects, her body heaving with sobs for a man she'd barely known. I just don't get it. But I can't tear myself away. This is Jim's choice. I can respect that. It fucking sucks, but I ain't gonna cry about it. Adrienne rises, loping down the hill right past me, and I'm afraid she's gonna topple over. Nodding at Jim, I shadow Adrienne down the hill and back to the road, watching her shove past a bewildered T-Dog and shut herself in his church van, her body damn near folding in half as she continues to sob, arms wrapped around herself like she might explode if she don't physically hold herself together.

"She always like that?" I question T-Dog, biting my thumb.

"That's just Adie, man," he huffs with a sigh, gazing concernedly at the mourning girl. "She feels shit real deep. Just gotta let her, you know? Let it run its course."

"Guess you got your work cut out for you," I mutter.

"What the hell you talkin' about, man?"

I ain't even sure. I shrug, heading over to my truck, T-Dog's eyes burning a hole in my back all the way.

*Adrienne's POV*

T-Dog climbs into the van silently and puts it in gear, rubbing my back before rolling out with the rest of our tiny caravan. He knows better than to try to offer any words of comfort. I just have to feel it. I have to sit with it. Sylvia had tried everything she could to help me regulate my emotions, every goddamn mindfulness exercise in the fucking book. I'd failed miserably, preferring to sit in my pain and rage, take it out on a guitar or the field. But this is the apocalypse. And we don't have things like guitars and sports, not anymore.

Eventually my soul quiets, the grief shifting from a burning in my cells to a full, aching knot in my throat. We pull into the city, the stench of death hitting us like a brick wall. There's a sharp humming in the air from the swarms of flies hovering over the piles of corpses, bodies dotting the landscape like twilight zone shrubbery among the abandoned tanks and stacked sandbags. Everyone exits their vehicles, T putting his arm around me as we approach the rest of the group. The physical contact soothes me in spite of the horror scene surrounding us.

"Alright everybody, keep movin'," Rick instructs as we move forward together, slowly making our way towards the CDC building down the street. "Stay quiet, let's go."

There's panic crackling in the air as we continue forward, the cloying stench causing a cacophony of coughs to erupt from us as we approach the building. We reach the doors, Rick and Shane pounding on the metal shutters that, when down, turn the CDC into an impenetrable fortress.

"There's nobody here," T-Dog states.

"Then why are these shutters down?" Rick demands.

"Walkers!" Daryl announces sharply, several dead approaching.

He acts quickly, shooting an arrow right between the eyes of a walker in uniform. Army. I hurl myself at another, burying my hatchet into the top of its head, trying to ignore the not quite luke-warm, sticky blood spraying from the corpse, painting my skin crimson.

"You led us into a graveyard!" Daryl shouts, turning on Rick.

"He made a call!" Shane says defensively.

"It was the wrong fuckin' call!"

"You shut up!" Shane growls. "Just shut up, you hear me? Shut up! Shut up!" He jabs his finger at Daryl, who stands down, then turns back to Rick. "Rick, this is a dead end."

"Where are we gonna go?" Carol wails, clinging to Sophia.

"Do you hear me?" Shane questions Rick. "No blame."

"Shane's right, we can't be here, this close to the city after dark!" Lori says urgently.

"Fort Benning, Rick," Shane says, voice cracking under the stress. "Still an option."

"On what?" Andrea counters. "No food, no fuel, it's 100 miles."

"125, I checked the map," Glenn corrects.

As the argument rages on, I notice something.

"Rick!" I hiss, moving closer to the shutters. "Rick, that camera's movin'!"

The rest of the group is panicking, gearing up to make a run for it. Rick turns his eyes to the camera mounted above the metal shutter we're gathered in front of. It moves again, whirring, unmistakable.

"The camera!" Rick cries desperately. "It moved!"

"You imagined it," Dale says, eyeing the camera skeptically.

"It  _ moved, _ " Rick and I insist in unison.

"It moved," Rick repeats, inching closer.

"Rick, it's dead, man," Shane argues. "It's, it's an automated device. It's gears, okay? They're just winding down. Now come on."

"Windin' down? You mean like automated shit does when it's been recently operated?" I scoff. "Someone's in there, Shane!"

"You need to let it go, Adie!" Shane shouts as Rick breaks from his grip and pounds desperately at the shutter.

"I know you're in there!" Rick implores. "I know you can hear me! Please, we're desperate! Please help us! We have women, children, no food, hardly any gas left!"

"Rick! Rick, there's nobody here!" Lori says harshly, stepping in front of her husband.

"We have nowhere else to go!" Rick howls, pounding on the shutter. "If you don't let us in, you're killing us! Please!"

He continues to scream hysterically, Shane dragging him away from the shutter. I've turned, finding myself back to back with Daryl, hatchet out, as more walkers approach. Whoever's in there, they aren't gonna concern themselves with us. That's clear.

"You're killing us!" Rick howls repeatedly, refusing to give up.

We're moving in a cluster, trying to keep the children and unarmed in the center. Night is falling, the sky darkening quickly as the dead descend upon us. Suddenly, a brilliant white light floods onto the pavement, blinding us as the shutter screeches open.

"Son of a bitch!" I holler. "I knew it."

The group makes a run for it, tearing into the opening.

"Daryl, cover the back!" Shane shouts, covering the front with Rick as we take in our surroundings.

We're in a large, dimly lit atrium. I don't know why, but I was expecting the CDC to be a little more… secret lab-ish. The space we've found ourselves in looks like any old business plaza. My eyes sweep the open area, not seeing anyone.

"Hello?" Rick shouts. "Hello?"

"Close those doors," Shane orders. "Watch for walkers."

"Hello?" Rick shouts once more, but this time he's greeted by the unmistakable sound of a gun cocking.


	10. Booyah!

**Chapter 10**

"Anybody infected?" A man armed with an M60 standing at the top of a flight of stairs to the right of the entry hall questions, startling the hell out of us.

"One of our group was," Rick answers, his gun trained on the stranger. "He didn't make it."

"Why are you here, what do you want?" The man asks, moving slowly down the stairs.

"A chance," Rick replies.

"That's asking an awful lot these days," the man points out, stepping into the light.

He's clearly exhausted. Quite pale, too. How long has this guy been shut in here? Weeks, months?

"I know," Rick says quietly.

The man eyes us and, after a few moments of careful consideration, his face softens just slightly.

"You all submit to a blood test," he says, inching closer. "That's the price of admission."

"We can do that," Rick agrees.

"You got stuff to bring in, you do it now," the man orders, lowering his weapon. "Once this door closes, it stays closed."

We don't have much in the way of stuff, just a few backpacks between us, which we grab before sprinting inside the doors.

"VI, seal the main entrance," the man commands, speaking into some kind of security pad on the wall. "Kill the power up here."

There's an ungodly racket, the shutters squealing and rattling as they close. The man turns towards us once more, eyes lingering on my face for a moment. Remembering my eye, I reach up and touch the bruised, swollen skin self consciously. The man continues to stare at me as we all pile into an elevator. I find myself squished uncomfortably between Daryl and Glenn, neither of whom seem too happy about my blood streaked arms being in such close proximity.

"Rick Grimes," Rick introduces himself, forcing the man's eyes from my face.

"Dr. Edwin Jenner," he says uncertainly, ignoring Rick's outstretched hand.

"Doctors always go around packin' heat like that?" Daryl questions, leaning against the wall beside me.

"There were plenty left lying around, I familiarized myself," Jenner replies, nodding.

"Good call," I huff with a sigh, adrenaline crashing, exhaustion beginning to weigh on my body.

"But you look harmless enough," the doctor continues. "Except you," he adds, nodding at Carl with a small smile. "I'll have to keep my eye on you."

Carl grins sheepishly and Jenner turns away with a chuckle, leading us out the elevator and into a white brick hallway.

"Are we underground?" Carol questions.

"Are you claustrophobic?" Jenner asks.

"A little."

"Try not to think about it," the doctor says unhelpfully, leading us into a large room "VI, bring up the lights in the big room."

There's a ramp leading to a circular platform in the center of the room, several computers arranged on the platform, lit from above by a circular light fixture.

"Welcome to Zone 5," Jenner says, leading us down the ramp.

"Where is everybody?" Rick questions, looking around the room as though people may be hiding from him. "The other doctors, the staff?"

"I'm it," Jenner says simply, facing the group. "It's just me here."

"What about the person you were speaking with?" Lori asks. "VI?"

"VI, say hello to our guests," Jenner commands. "Tell them… welcome."

"Hello, guests," a computer generated voice echoes about the room,a chill sweeping through my body. "Welcome."

"I'm all that's left," Jenner says calmly. "I'm sorry."

With that, we're led to a room that looks more like a college classroom than a laboratory, furnished with a whiteboard and neat rows of chairs on risers, to make good on our promise to let the doctor tap our veins. When it's my turn, I take a seat in front of Jenner as he preps a needle and vial, rolling up my right sleeve. The doctor stretches my arm out in front of him, shaking his head.

"How are your veins in the other arm?" He questions and panic seizes my heart. "I'm afraid if I try to draw from any of the veins in this arm, they'll blow. Are you a difficult stick?"

"I don't know," I answer him truthfully.

The only time I'd ever had my blood drawn I'd been unconscious and they'd been checking for illicit substances and I'm not about to cop to that.

"Let's take a look at the other arm," Jenner suggests. "If those are no good we'll draw from your hand."

Seeing no other option that won't cause a scene, I sigh heavily and roll up my sleeve. Jenner's eyes widen, taking in the angry, jagged scar that runs the length of my forearm.

*Daryl's POV*

I'm watching Adrienne, taking in her sudden nervousness as Jenner requests she allow him to draw blood from her left arm, the one she's always scratching at. She hesitates for a moment, then rolls up her left sleeve. Shit. The reason for her affinity for long sleeves despite the cruel, Georgia heat comes into full view. There's no mistaking it, even in poor lighting. A jagged slice running from the top of her wrist to the crease of her elbow and very clearly intentional. She's already too damn pale, but the scar is devoid of any color at all, a stark white reminder of whatever demons caused it. She thrusts her arm towards Jenner, who is blatantly staring at the scar. He ain't even trying to hide his shock. Adrienne turns her head, something like shame darkening her features. Her eyes flicker up, meeting my gaze. Christ. I didn't look away fast enough and she hangs her head, curls tumbling into her face.

"I'm afraid it's gonna have to be the hand," Jenner tells her stiffly.

Disdain for this man floods through my being. Adrienne yanks down her sleeve, glaring at the doctor as she angrily wipes away the single tear making its way down her cheek. I don't blame her, she'd just been exposed for nothing. All to be told her veins ain't no good, have this jackass play off her discomfort like it don't even matter. I got my own scars I don't want nobody looking at. Adrienne rises from her seat, ignoring the stares from our group as she walks briskly to an unoccupied corner of the room. She sinks to the floor, drawing her knees to her chest and staring blankly in front of her, refusing to look at anyone else.

"What's the point?" Andrea demands, dragging her eyes from Adrienne as the doctor starts her blood draw. "If we were infected, we'd all be running a fever."

"I've already broken every rule in the book letting you in here," Jenner points out. "Let me just at least be thorough. All done."

Andrea gets to her feet slowly, looking like she's damn near falling over.

"You okay?" Jenner asks.

"She hasn't eaten in days," Jacqui snaps, evidently not down for this blood test bullshit. "None of us have."

*Adrienne's POV*

We're all sitting at a table in the staff cafeteria. Jenner, apparently having quite the stock here by himself, has made us dinner. Complete with wine in actual wine glasses. How fancy. The group seems to have relaxed, laughing and eating and drinking together. But none of them can look me in the eye. Not that I want them to. I pick at the contents of my plate, wishing for nothing more than the floor to open up and swallow me whole, to be spirited away into oblivion where I belong.

"You know, in Italy," Dale begins slyly, eyeing Carl as he pours another glass of wine. " _ Children _ have a little bit of wine with dinner," he continues, passing the glass to Lori. " _ And _ in France," he adds, taking a seat.

"Well, when Carl is in Italy or France, he can have some then," Lori says firmly, taking a long sip.

"What's it gonna hurt?" Rick asks jovially. "Come on."

Dale hits Lori with the puppy eyes.

"Come on!" Rick repeats happily, Lori staring at him like he's just suggested we play strip poker. "What?" He asks defensively as the group laughs, Carl sitting between his parents waiting to try his first drink.

Lori gives in, waving her hand in a gesture of amused assent.

"Here you go there, young lad," Dale says, handing Carl a glass with maybe three swallows worth of red in it.

Carl takes a sip, letting it run over his taste buds. After a second, the taste of the alcohol registers and he pulls a face.

"Eww!" He groans, pushing the cup away as the adults laugh heartily.

"That's my boy!" Lori says proudly, patting her son's back.

"Yuck!" The boy exclaims, shaking his head. "That tastes nasty."

My thoughts are pulled away from the conversation. Every so often I catch one of the adults looking at me with worried eyes. Like I'm a dangerous animal, howling in pain, and they don't dare approach. Fear. Or maybe just pity. It's the same look people had on their faces when my mama died. I can't fucking take it. I'm snapped back into reality when Daryl's voice floats into my head.

"Not you, Glenn," he says firmly.

"What?" Glenn asks, laughing nervously and lowering the soda in his hand.

"Keep drinkin' little man, I wanna see how red your face can get," Daryl challenges teasingly.

Holy shit.  _ Daryl's _ joking? I eye the bottle of Southern Comfort in his hand and snatch it impulsively, ignoring his look of surprise as I lift it to my lips, taking a long swig before giving it back.

"What?" I snap defensively when the group falls silent, staring at me. " _ Carl _ the only one who can get a drink around here? Jesus."

After a split second, the room erupts into laughter, T gently squeezing my shoulder. I can't help it, the simple fact I haven't been cast out makes my heart soar. I'm still human, I'm still part of them. Feeling a slow grin spread across my face, I meet Daryl's eyes. The corner of his mouth twitches slightly, eyebrows raising as he lifts the bottle like a toast to me and takes a sip. The laughter dies down once more when Rick taps his fork against his glass, commanding our attention.

"It seems to me we haven't thanked our host properly," he says, getting to his feet and eyeing Jenner, who is solemnly watching our group from the next table over.

"He is more than just our host," T-Dog says, slurring slightly as he raises his glass.

"Hear hear!" Dale exclaims, also raising his glass.

"Here's to you, Doc," Daryl proclaims, pouring several shots worth of whiskey into a glass and placing it in front of me. "Booyah!" He shouts, raising the bottle.

This causes more laughter, a few of the group echoing the unexpected exclamation, glasses clinking amongst the chatter.

"Booyah," I murmur, smirking at Daryl as I clink my glass against his bottle, relishing in the burn of the whiskey as I down the entire glass.

*Daryl's POV*

"Booyah," Adrienne says softly, hazel eyes bright as she grins up at me. 

She knocks her glass against the bottle in my hand and I find myself mesmerized. The alcohol is taking effect, coursing through my veins, and I can't seem to pull my eyes from the woman as she tosses back whiskey like it ain't shit, draining the glass in one go. I'd given her a damn generous amount, too. Even in the low light, sporting a black eye and caked in dried blood, she's striking, with the scarlet waves, that dimple that only sometimes shows up just to the right of her mouth when she smiles, and those damn  _ eyes… _ deep green and warm amber hues mingling perfectly.

She's beautiful.

What the fuck? My common sense punches through the haze of the alcohol, tethering me back to reality. Beautiful.  _ Warm amber hues? _ Where the hell did all that come from? I ain't interested. Even if I was interested,  _ she _ sure as shit ain't interested. T-Dog wraps his arm around her shoulder and guilt claws at my insides for looking at her. Even if she didn't belong to someone else already, what the hell would she see in a redneck piece of shit like me? I'd just ruin her. My thoughts darken and I take another drink.

*Adrienne's POV*

"So when you gonna tell us what the hell happened here, doc?" Shane questions, shattering the mood.

"Jesus, Shane," I glare at him.

"All the uh, the other doctors," he continues, ignoring me. "That were supposed to be figuring out what happened, where are they?"

"We're celebratin', Shane,'' Rick says warily. "Don't need to do this now."

"Whoa, wait a second. This is why we're here, right?" Shane asks. "This was your move, supposed to find all the answers," he explains, lacing his fingers in front of him. "Instead we uh, well we found him," he chuckles bitterly, pointing a thumb at Jenner. "Found one man,  _ why? _ "

"Well, when things got bad…" Jenner murmurs. "A lot of people just left. Went off to be with their families. And when things got worse, when the military cordon got overrun? The rest bolted."

"Every last one?" Shane pushes.

"No," Jenner says curtly. "Many couldn't face walking out the door. They…  _ opted out, _ " he says, eyes settling on me. "There was a rash of suicides. That was a bad time."

My heart hurts for him. These people were his colleagues, his friends. He's been alone in this building, this  _ mausoleum, _ with the ghosts of his dead friends. This place is a tomb.

"You didn't leave," Andrea says, breaking the silence. "Why?"

"I just kept working," Jenner replies. "Hoping to do some good."

"Dude, you are such a buzzkill, man," Glenn says, shooting a withering look at Shane.

After that uncomfortable conversation, Jenner leads us from the cafeteria to a hallway lined with offices.

"Most of the facility is powered down," he informs us. "Including housing, so you'll have to make do here. Couches are comfortable, but there are cots in storage if you like."

I don't think he understands how long it's been since we've even had walls.

"There's a rec room down the hall that you kids might enjoy," he continues, turning to face Carl and Sophia. "Just don't plug in the video games, okay? Or anything that draws power. The same applies," he says, addressing the adults. "If you shower, go easy on the hot water."

"Hot water?" Glenn asks, face lighting up as Jenner walks away.

"That's what the man said," T grins, he and Glenn sharing a surprised laugh.


	11. We Didn't Come Here For the Eggs

**Chapter 11**

T-Dog and I claim an office, and I insist he shower first. He doesn't put up much of a fight, excitement over the idea of hot water and soap winning out over his chivalrous nature, so he hits the showers and I hit the rec room. There's a pool table, a cupboard housing several board games, and shelves upon shelves full of books, and a tiki bar. Damn, these CDC folks must've been real booze hounds. I make a beeline for the shelves and peruse my options, eventually selecting Harry Potter and The Sorcerer's Stone and settling cross-legged on one of the plush chairs dotting the room to read to Carl and Sophia, the two of them having laid first claim to the showers.

“Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much,” I read, Sophia, Carl, and even Carol giggling at the ridiculously terrible British accent I've adopted.

I don't get too deeply involved in the book. Harry's just making friends with a snake at the zoo when T-Dog pops his head into the room.

"Your turn," he informs me with a grin. "I left a towel for you."

"Will you read more tomorrow, Adie?" Sophia asks.

"Of course I will," I promise her, kissing her and Carl each on the cheek. "We haven't even gotten to any of the good stuff yet."

I return the book to its shelf and head to the shower, not quite able to believe it's real until I see it for myself. But it is. I shimmy out of my filthy clothes and step into the shower. There's a dispenser mounted to the wall containing body wash, shampoo, and, to my happy surprise, even conditioner. I turn the knob and step under the stream of hot water surging from the shower head, relishing in the wave of pleasure the heat sends scurrying down my spine. How long has it been since my last shower? I don't remember, I've lost count of the days. I'd rinsed in the quarry, trying in vain to maintain some semblance of cleanliness, but even that wasn't a daily occurrence. The steaming water on my skin might be the best thing I've felt in my entire life, a luxury from before I hadn't realized how much I missed.

After I've thoroughly washed, I step from the shower, wrap myself in a towel, and eye the small heap clothes I'd shed pre-shower. I wish I'd thought to grab a clean outfit, but that kind of forethought had apparently gone out the window at the prospect of soap. They're filthy, dirt, sweat, and blood staining the fabric. The black and white plaid flannel I'd been wearing faded into a muddy looking grey long ago and it's become threadbare at the elbows. I finger one of the blood stained sleeves thoughtfully. I square my shoulders, then wrap the towel around myself, clutching my clothes in my hands. I'm not putting this shit back on til I have a chance to wash it, not when I feel clean for the first time in weeks. I feel good. The alcohol helps, sure, but I'm not drunk. Just buzzed enough to not really give a fuck as I pad down the hallway with just a towel on. I round the corner of the hallway and run straight into Daryl, who had been walking the opposite direction with a significantly emptier bottle of whiskey than he'd had at dinner.

"Fuck, I'm sorry," I mutter, taking a step back and staring at the floor, embarrassed.

"What, you tryna show off that arm of yours again?" He spits angrily.

I snap my eyes up to him, shocked at the hostility in his voice. He's looking straight up at the ceiling, ruddy cheeks giving away his piss drunk state. Any trace of the good mood he'd been in earlier this evening has disappeared.

"You're a dick when you're drunk," I blurt.

"I'm a dick when I  _ ain't _ drunk," he snaps, hard eyes never leaving the ceiling. "What's your point, girl?"

I don't bother with a response, mostly because I'm afraid I'll start to cry and I don't want to let him see that. I scurry down the hallway toward the office where T and I had stowed our things earlier, tightening the towel around me. I glance over my shoulder when I reach the door. Daryl's glued to his spot, not having moved a muscle. I rush into the office, closing the door behind me and slipping to the floor against it, breath coming in short heaves as I attempt to fight the tears threatening to fall from my eyes.

"Adie?" T says in the darkness, springing from the couch he'd settled in on and crossing to where I sit. "What's wrong?"

"I just… I didn't want anyone to know," I sob quietly, voice cracking. "I didn't want, didn't want anyone to see."

"Adrienne," he says sternly. "This don't make a damn bit of difference. We ain't gonna treat you different just 'cause you been through some shit."

He takes my hand, helping me to my feet and pulling me into a hug.

"I don't deserve to  _ be _ here," I mumble into his neck. "Not like Jim. Or Amy."

The tears keep flowing as I think of the lives lost, lives that had been valued by those living them when not so long ago I'd been ready to end it all. If anyone deserves to die, it's me.

"Man, shut the hell up," T says softly. "We  _ need _ you. Don't you go givin' up on me now."

I nod. He hugs me tight before releasing me, crossing back to the couch he'd claimed and turning away, giving me privacy to get dressed. I cross to the desk where we'd placed our bags, unzipping my pack and retrieving a clean sports bra, underwear, jeans, socks, and a dark green henley. Long sleeves, of course. Wouldn't wanna show anything off. I yank my jeans on, noticing how loosely they hang on my hips as I fasten the button. Once I'm fully clothed, I plop down heavily on the couch opposite the one T claimed. Sitting cross legged, I rake my fingers through my hair, attempting to tame it slightly before accepting that it's a lost cause without a hairbrush.

I lay back on the couch, settling in for the night. I trace my scar through my sleeve, Daryl's harsh words ringing in my ears. I don't understand why one moment he's full of concern, warm and considerate, sometimes even gentle, cold and cruel the next. Unreachable. Why is he so damn angry at everybody? More to the point, why the fuck do I care? I have bigger things to worry about than Daryl fucking Dixon.

The next morning, I wake feeling better rested than I have in weeks. I guess having a full belly, being clean and surrounded by a walker-proof fortress of brick and metal will do that to you. Maybe the alcohol helped some, too. I stretch, yawning as I shove my feet into my boots and rise off the couch. I stride toward the door, opening it to reveal T-Dog, hand poised to knock.

"Mornin'," I greet him.

"I was just comin' to get you up, there's breakfast," T grins, holding his arm out.

I link my arm with his and we head down the hallway and into the cafeteria.

"Adie!" Carl says brightly, patting the empty seat next to him.

"Mornin', bud," I reply, settling in next to him while T procures food for the two of us.

"Will you finish reading Harry Potter today?" He questions eagerly, eyes bright.

"I promised I would, didn't I?" I counter, once again putting on that terrible accent. "But first, a spot of breakfast is in order, wouldn't you agree, Mister Grimes?"

"Cheerio!" The boy laughs, grinning happily.

"Morning," Rick greets, shambling into the room.

"And a good day to you, too, old chap!" I crow, snickering.

"What?" He snaps, eyeing me confusedly.

"Are you hungover?" Carl asks with a smirk, causing me to snort the orange juice I'd just sipped into my nose. "Mom said you'd be."

" _ Mom _ is  _ right, _ " Rick admits irritably, heaving himself into the chair next to Lori and glaring at me while I cough and wheeze.

"Mom has that annoying habit," Lori says with a smile.

"Eggs!" T announces, emerging from the kitchen with a frying pan. "Powdered, but… but I do 'em  _ good. _ "

Poor Glenn lets out a tortured groan at the idea of food. I have a feeling he wasn't a drinker before all this, but he'd downed almost an entire bottle of wine last night. He's more hungover than anyone else, including Rick. I chuckle, accepting the plate of eggs T sets in front of me with a grateful grin.

"Bet you can't tell," he says confidently, boasting of his culinary prowess as I pop a bite into my mouth and throw up an okay sign. " _ Protein _ helps the  _ hangover, _ " he explains, plating eggs for anyone who will take them while Glenn continues to bitch and moan.

"Where'd all this come from?" Rick questions, holding up a nearly full bottle of aspirin.

"Jenner," Lori replies.

"Could you help me please?" Her husband requests, unable to open the childproof cap in his current state.

"Yeah," she nods. "He thought we could use it."

"Thank you," Rick mutters.

" _ Some  _ of us, at least," Lori snickers, eyeing Glenn.

"Don't ever, ever, ever, let me drink again," he groans.

"Hey," Shane greets us, heading for the coffee.

There's a chorus of general good mornings from all but Lori, who has suddenly become very interested in the mostly empty plate in front of her. There's something weird in her eyes this time, though. It's not guilt. It's fear. She looks afraid.

"Feel as bad as I do?" Rick questions.

"Worse," Shane mutters.

"The hell happened to you?" T demands, eyeing three long, red scratches on Shane's skin. "Your neck?"

"Must've done it in my sleep," Shane sighs, taking the seat across from me.

"Never seen you do that before," Rick points out.

"Me neither," Shane says, staring at Lori over the rim of his cup. "Not like me at all."

Lori glances at him briefly before averting her eyes once more. Jesus. What the hell happened? Before I can puzzle too much over that, Dr. Jenner strides into the room, beelining straight for the coffee.

"Mornin'," he says.

He's greeted with a smattering of hey, docs and morning, docs as he fills his cup. Daryl, disheveled, unshowered, reeking of alcohol, and looking like he didn't sleep worth a damn, trails in after him.  _ Good, _ I think vindictively. Drunk or not, he  _ was _ a dick last night. Still, when no one else greets him, I can't help myself.

"Mornin'."

His eyes flicker to mine and I can't decide if he looks surprised or annoyed. Maybe a little bit of both. He says nothing, looking away and pretending I hadn't spoken. I don't know what the hell I did to make him hate me so much, but this feels a lot like rejection and I feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment.

"Doctor, I don't mean to slam you with questions first thing-" Dale starts.

"But you will anyway," Jenner interrupts resignedly.

"We didn't come here for the eggs," Andrea snaps.

"Speak for yourself," I quip, not wanting the doctor to feel like his hospitality is unappreciated.

He eyes us, then briskly walks from the room. We pick ourselves up, following him to the big room with the computers.

"Give me playback of TS-19," he commands.

"Playback of TS-19," VI responds, her electronic voice echoing eerily, a large monitor on the wall flashes to life.

"Few people ever got a chance to see this," Jenner says gravely, facing us while the computer loads a video file. "Very few."

The video begins to play, footage of a CT scan filling the screen.

"Is that a brain?" Carl questions.

"An extraordinary one," Jenner replies. "Not that it matters in the end. Take us in for E.I.V."

"Enhanced internal view," VI states, the image on the monitor shifting to a view of the inside of the brain.

Hundreds of little lights, traveling through neural pathways in the blink of an eye.

"What are those lights?" Shane inquires.

"It's a person's life," Jenner explains. "Experiences, memories. It's everything. Somewhere in all that organic wiring, all those ripples of light, is  _ you. _ The thing that makes you unique. And human."

"You don't make sense?" Daryl questions, confusion written all over his face. "Ever?"

"Synapses," I murmur, gazing at the lights flashing on the monitor in rapt fascination.

My therapist, Sylvia, had spent a lot of time talking about this kind of thing. The science behind  _ why _ we do what we do, why we're stuck in our ways. Every time we make a choice, we create a neural pathway connecting thought to impulse to action. Each time we make the same choice, we grease that particular pathway, making it easier to make the same choice over and over again. It's how habits are formed, good and bad. Coping mechanisms, too.

"Electric impulses in the brain," Jenner nods, seemingly impressed. "They carry all the messages. They determine everything a person says, does or thinks from the moment of birth to the moment of death."

"Death?" Rick asks. "That's what this is, a vigil?"

"Yes," Jenner replies, eyes glued to the screen. "Or rather, rather the playback of the vigil."

"This person died?" Andrea questions softly, moving closer and peering up at the screen. "Who?"

"Test Subject 19. Someone who was bitten and infected… and volunteered to have us record the process," Jenner answers solemnly. "VI, scan forward to the first event."

"Scanning to first event," the robotic voice announces.

We watch in horror as the tiny, ethereal lights fade, a dark, sinister mass blooming at the center of the brain and beginning to spread.

"What is that?" Glenn asks.

"It invades the brain like meningitis," Jenner explains. "The adrenal glands hemorrhage, the brain goes into shutdown, then the major organs."

Test Subject 19 twitches on the feed as more and more lights fade, the darkness spreading until finally… death. No lights. No movement. Nothing.

"Then death," Jenner says softly, tears forming in his eyes. "Everything you ever were or ever will be… gone."

"Is that what happened to Jim?" Sophia's little voice pipes up.

"Yes," Carol says truthfully, nodding.

Andrea breathes in sharply, hanging her head as she fights her own tears back. This is what happened to Amy, too, on a smaller scale. She didn't live long enough for the infection to spread like that. She bled out before that could happen, she didn't suffer like she would have if… still, knowing this provides little comfort.

"She lost somebody two days ago," Lori explains to Jenner. "Her sister."

"I lost somebody, too," he says, moving close to Andrea. "I know how devastating it is. Scan to the second event."

"Scanning to second event."

"The resurrection times vary wildly. We had reports of it happening in as little as three minutes," Jenner informs us. "The longest we heard of was 8 hours. In the case of this patient, it was two hours, one minute, seven seconds."

Suddenly, dull red lights flicker to life on the screen, Test Subject 19 stirring.

"It restarts the brain?" Lori asks tearfully.

"No, just the brain  _ stem, _ " Jenner corrects. "Basically, it gets them up and moving."

"But they're not alive?" Rick questions.

"You tell me," Jenner counters, pointing to the screen.

"It's nothing like before," Rick says, shaking his head. "Most of that brain is dark."

"Dark, lifeless, dead," Jenner says. "The frontal lobe, the neocortex, the human part? That doesn't come back. The  _ you _ part. Just a shell, driven by mindless instinct."

A flash of light explodes across the screen and drives through the brain, Test Subject 19 becoming motionless as the brain goes completely dark once more. Shot.

"God," Carol grimaces. "What was that?"

"He shot his patient in the head," Andrea observes. "Didn't you?"

"VI, power down the main screen and the workstations," Jenner instructs, ignoring Andrea's inquiry.

"Powering down main screen and workstations," VI announces.

"You have no idea what it is, do you?" Andrea asks, hysteria slowly building in her voice.

"It could be microbial, viral, parasitic, fungal…" Jenner lists.

"Or the wrath of god?" Jacqui demands sarcastically.

"There is that," Jenner says quietly.

"Somebody must know something," Andrea insists. " _ Somebody, _ somewhere."

"Other centers?" I suggest, leaning against one of the workstations.

"There are others, right?" Carol asks. "Other facilities?"

"There may be some," Jenner replies. "People like me."

"But you don't know, how can you not know?" Rick demands.

"Look at this place, Rick," I point out, gesturing vaguely around the room. "Doesn't look operational to me."

"Everything went down," Jenner confirms. "Communications, directives, all of it. I've been in the dark for almost a month."

"So it's not just here. There's nothing left anywhere? Nothing?" Andrea questions. "That's what you're really saying, right?"

Jenner doesn't respond and a weight settles over the room. There is no cure. No further research being done. Hell, they don't even know what the fuck this thing is. We can't stop it.

"Jesus…" Jacqui mutters.

"Man, I'm gonna get shitfaced drunk," Daryl announces. " _ Again. _ "

"There somethin' left to drink?" I ask pointedly, earning a hard glare from the bowman.

"Dr. Jenner, I know this has been taxing for you and I hate to ask one more question, but… that clock," Dale says, pointing to a running timer on the wall. "It's counting down. What happens at zero?"

"The basement generators, they run out of fuel," Jenner says evasively.

"And then?" Rick questions, but Jenner ignores him, wandering away without another word. "VI, what happens when the power runs out?"

"When the power runs out, facility-wide decontamination will occur."

"Jesus Christ," I hiss as Rick, Shane, Glenn, and T tear off in the direction of the basement.

The rest of the group scatters to the offices we'd slept in, not really sure what else to do. Jenner's shut himself in his office, evidently through with conversation, and I'm not sure why, but I find myself trailing after Daryl. Maybe he's got a bottle of something left, after all.

"Why you followin' me?" He spits, collapsing onto the couch in the room he'd claimed as his, pulling a half full bottle of Southern Comfort from behind the cushion and lifting it to his lips.

"I was hopin' you had that," I reply, nodding at the bottle in his hand.

He scowls, then sits back with a look of resignation. I settle beside him and he hands me the bottle. I take a long swig, passing it back to him.

"Woulda thought the way you were drinkin' last night you'd be sicker 'n shit today," he remarks, taking a sip. "You look like a lightweight."

"Nah. I hold my alcohol better than some people," I retort, his drunken accusation of last night echoing in my mind, snatching the bottle from his hand and taking another gulp. "Takes more than a few shots to get me drunk."

"Hm," he grunts, accepting the bottle as I pass it back to him. "How'd you know what them lights were? Synapses?"

"Therapy," I chuckle bitterly. "Spent a lot of time talkin' about brains tryin' to figure out what the hell's wrong with mine."

"Hell's a girl like you need therapy for?" He spits. "Silver spoon ain't enough for you?"

"God, what the fuck is your  _ problem? _ " I demand. "Girl like me. You don't even know me, how the hell would you know what I did or didn't need?"

Before he can answer, the air in the room suddenly becomes cloying and stagnant. Shit. I snatch the whiskey and take one more sip before roughly shoving the bottle back into his hands, rising to my feet and reaching my outstretched fingers up into the vent above our heads.

"Air's off," I announce, turning my head to look at him just as the lights go out.


	12. Wouldn't It Be Kinder?

**Chapter 12**

There's a commotion in the hallway, voices. Daryl crosses the room, poking his head out as Dr. Jenner strides down the hallway.

"Hey, what's goin' on?" Daryl demands as I slip from behind him and step out of the room, Carol squinting between the two of us curiously. "Why's everything turnin' off?

"Energy use is being prioritized," Jenner says, taking the bottle from Daryl and sipping as our group follows him through the hall.

"Air isn't a priority?" Dale asks incredulously. "And lights?"

"It's not up to me," Jenner informs us. "Zone 5 is shutting itself down."

"Hey!" Daryl shouts. "Hey, what the hell's that mean?"

Jenner ignores him, continuing his path as everything around us begins to shut down.

"Hey, man, I'm talkin' to you. What do you mean it's shuttin' itself down?" Daryl demands. "How can a building do anything?"

"You'd be surprised," Jenner says.

"It's automated," I guess, eyeing the doctor as we enter the big room, Rick and the others rushing in from the other direction. "He doesn't decide what shuts off and what doesn't. VI does. Right?"

The look on Jenner's face confirms my theory. He's not in control.

"You're smart," he observes, eyeing me quizzically. "What did you do before all this?"

"It doesn't matter," I mutter, avoiding the question.

I'm not about to admit I spent the five years of life before the world ended high as a goddamn kite, trading sex for room and board. No way in hell. The only real job I ever had before that was cashiering, I was never anything important. I could've been. But I fucked that all to hell.

"No," Jenner nods. "No, I suppose it doesn't."

"Rick!" Lori exclaims.

"Jenner, what's happening?" Rick demands.

"The system is dropping all the non-essential uses of power," Jenner explains. "It's designed to keep the computers running until the last possible second. That started as we approached the half hour mark. Right on schedule."

Jenner takes another hearty swig from the bottle before Daryl snatches it back from him, whiskey sloshing onto the concrete floor.

"It was the French," Jenner blurts.

"What?" Andrea asks.

"They were the last ones to hold out as far as I know," he explains. "While our people were bolting out the doors and committing suicide in the hallways, they stayed in the labs til the end. They thought they were close to a solution."

"What happened?" Jacqui questions.

"The same thing that's happening here," he replies. "No power grid. Ran out of juice."

" _Ran outta_ _juice?_ " I spit, heated over how flippantly this man offers explanations on the destruction of the only place left in the world with the power to literally save humanity.

"The world runs on fossil fuel. I mean, how stupid is that?" He questions, morbid amusement coloring his voice as he steps onto the platform.

"Let me tell you-" Shane starts, following him up the steps.

"To hell with it, Shane, I don't even care," Rick interrupts, grabbing Shane by the shoulders and turning to the group. "Lori, grab our things. Everybody get your stuff. We're gettin' outta here, now!"

"Oh, okay," Jacqui agrees.

Before anyone makes it even three steps, an alarm pierces the air.

"What's that?" Shane demands.

"30 minutes to decontamination," VI announces, a timer appearing on the big screen.

"Doc, what's goin' on here?" Daryl asks desperately.

"Everybody, you heard Rick, get your stuff and let's go, go now! Go!" Shane orders.

Before anyone can make it to the exit, a metal door slides up from under the floor, sealing us inside.

"Did you just lock us in?" Glenn questions disbelievingly. "He just locked us in!"

"Jesus!" I shout, tearing up the steps towards the doctor hellbent on holding us here. "What the hell's wrong with you?"

"We've hit the 30 minute window. I am recording," Jenner says into a webcam on the desk he's seated at, completely disregarding the voices of the panicking children he just imprisoned.

"You son of a bitch!" Daryl howls, following my path onto the platform, grabbing my shoulders with surprising gentleness and moving me out of his way as he storms towards the doctor. "You locked us in here!"

"Shane!" Rick cries, Shane looking up and hurling himself towards Daryl as the latter reaches Jenner.

"You lying-" Daryl shouts as Shane wraps his arms around him, pulling him from the doctor. "You locked us in here! I'll kill you!"

He rears back, aiming to throw his bottle of whiskey at Jenner's head.

"No, don't do it!" T-Dog shouts, joining Shane's efforts to hold him back.

"Hey Jenner, open that door now," Rick orders, stalking towards the doctor.

"There's no point," Jenner says. "Everything topside is locked down. The emergency exits are sealed."

"Well open the damn things!" Daryl shouts from behind Shane and T-Dog.

"That's not something I can control, the computers do. I told you once that front door closed, it wouldn't open again. You heard me say that!" Jenner cries defensively.

"You lyin' piece of shit,'' I hiss, pure rage making my voice deadly calm. "There's gotta be an override.  _ Do somethin'. _ "

"It's better this way," Jenner says.

"What is?" Rick asks. "What happens in 28 minutes?"

Jenner doesn't respond.

"What happens in 28 minutes?" Rick repeats, yelling this time.

"Come on!" Daryl shouts, having been released from Shane and T-Dog's hold.

"You know what this place is?" Jenner cries, shooting from his seat to face the group. "We protected the public from  _ very _ nasty stuff!  _ Weaponized _ smallpox! Ebola strains that could wipe out half the country! Stuff you don't want getting out!  _ Ever! _ "

The doctor finishes his hysterical tyrade, breathing heavily as he looks around the room. He takes a seat, his calm demeanor returning.

"In the event of a catastrophic power failure," he murmurs. "In a _ terrorist attack, _ for example, H.I.T.s are deployed to prevent any organisms from getting out."

"Jesus…" I breathe.

This place is gonna blow. Facility wide decontamination... I should've seen it coming. This man is suicidal. He's been holed up in here alone, too chicken shit to leave or  _ 'opt out' _ like the rest of his esteemed colleagues. He's just been waiting to run out of fuel.

"H.I.T.s?" Rick asks, looking from my horror-stricken face to the doctor and back.

"VI, define," Jenner commands.

"H.I.T.s," VI announces, "High impulse thermobaric fuel-air explosives consist of a two-stage aerosol ignition that produces a blast wave of significantly greater power and duration than any other known explosive except nuclear. The vacuum-pressure effect ignites the oxygen at between 5,000 and 6,000 degrees and is useful when the greatest loss of life and damage to structures is desired."

"It sets the air on fire," Jenner whispers. "No pain. An end to sorrow, grief… regret. Everything."

"You selfish prick!" I snarl as Daryl hurls his bottle at the blocked exit. "We have  _ children!  _ Who are you to make that choice for them?"

"Open the damn door!" Daryl yells, stalking back down towards the doctor.

"Outta my way!" Shane cries, running past Daryl to the exit, axe in hand.

Shane begins to swing at the door repeatedly. T-Dog tosses a second axe to Daryl, who catches it, joining Shane's efforts, the sound of metal on metal echoing through the room.

"You should have left well enough alone," Jenner chastises. "It would've been so much easier."

"Easier for who?" Lori demands.

"All of you. You  _ know _ what's out there. A short, brutal life and an agonizing death. Your, your sister, what was her name?" He questions, looking to Andrea.

"Amy," she murmurs.

"Amy," he repeats. "You know what this does. You've seen it. Is that really what you want for your wife and son?" He demands, this time looking at Rick.

" _ I don't want this, _ " Rick hisses emphatically, eyes turning to fire as his gaze bores into Jenner's.

"Can't make a dent," Shane huffs heavily, he and Daryl meeting us back on the platform, having given up on the doors.

"Those doors are designed to withstand a rocket launcher," Jenner points out.

"Well your head ain't!" Daryl roars, swinging the axe backward as he hurls himself back towards Jenner.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Rick shouts, he and Dale restraining Daryl once again.

"Daryl!" I snap.

He stills at the sound of my voice, waiting.

"Not in front of them," I murmur, gesturing to the two children huddling on the floor beside their mothers.

Daryl backs up, releasing the axe to T-Dog's grasp and walking away.

"You  _ do _ want this," Jenner says. "I know you do. You couldn't handle the way life was  _ before _ this, I'm giving you an  _ out! _ " He adds, eyeing my arm pointedly.

I'm stricken, unable to formulate any kind of response. Maybe he's right… maybe I can't handle this, but this is no way for Carl or Sophia to die. He doesn't get to make that choice for them.

"Don't you talk to her," Daryl snarls, glaring at the doctor from a few paces away. "Don't you even  _ look _ at her!"

"Last night you said," Jenner says, appealing to Rick now. "You knew it was just a matter of time before everybody you loved was dead."

"What?" T-Dog breathes.

"What, you really said that?" Shane asks. "After all your big talk?"

"I had to keep hope alive, didn't I?" Rick demands, confirming what Jenner said is true.

"There is no hope," the doctor states. "There never was."

"There is  _ always _ hope," Rick proclaims, moving closer to Jenner. "Maybe it won't be you, maybe not here, but somebody,  _ somewhere! _ "

"What part of everything is gone do you not understand?" Andrea asks coldly.

"Listen to your friend," Jenner says. "She gets it. This is what takes us down. This is our extinction event."

"What she _gets_ is the option she wants for herself!" I snarl, glaring at the blonde woman on the floor. "If she had another choice, she wouldn't take it. The rest of us _would!_ We've made it through plenty of _extinction events,_ doctor, we're resilient like that. The black plague, the, the Spanish flu, _AIDS._ So you go ahead 'n give up. Blow yourself to pieces. But don't you take that choice from them, from _all of_ _us,_ just 'cause _you've_ decided there's nothin' left to fight for!"

"One  _ tiny _ moment," Jenner insists. "A, a, a millisecond. No pain."

"My daughter doesn't deserve to die like this!" Carol cries, clutching Sophia close as tears stream from her eyes.

"Wouldn't it be kinder?" Jenner questions. "More compassionate to just hold your loved ones and wait for the clock to run down?"

Shane has decided to take matters into his own hands, grabbing a gun and cocking it as he purposefully strides over to Jenner.

"Shane, no!" Rick shouts.

"Out of the way, Rick!" Shane snarls, shoving him out of his path. "Stay out of the way! Open that door," he orders, glaring down the barrel of the gun pointed into Jenner's face. "Or I'm gonna blow your head off, do you hear me?!"

"Brother, brother, this is not the way you do this," Rick pleads, standing beside Shane.

"We will never get outta here," Shane hisses.

"Shane, you listen to him," Lori pipes up.

"It's too late."

"He dies, we all-" Rick is cut off by an ungodly howl, Shane's rage exploding from his throat as he presses the gun to Jenner's cheek. "We all die! Shane!"

Shane whips around, shooting several computer monitors, glass, metal, and plastic shrapnel flying while he and Rick grapple for the weapon.

"Shane!" Rick shouts, managing to wrest the shotgun from Shane's grip and knock him to the floor. "Are you done now? Are you done?"

"Yeah, I guess we all are," Shane spits, getting to his feet.

"I think you're lying," Rick announces, addressing Jenner.

"What?" The doctor asks.

"You're lying," Rick repeats stubbornly. "About no hope. If that were true, you'd have bolted with the rest or taken the easy way out. You didn't. You chose the hard path. Why?"

"It doesn't matter," Jenner says.

"The hell it doesn't!" I hiss.

"It  _ does _ matter," Rick says, placing a calming hand on my shoulder. I shake him off, glaring at Jenner as Rick continues. "It always matters. You stayed when others ran. Why?"

"Not because I wanted to," the doctor spits. "I made a promise to  _ her, _ " he jabs a finger at the screen which had played the TS-19 footage almost an hour prior. "My wife."

"Test Subject 19 was your wife?" Lori questions, understanding blossoming on her face.

"She begged me to keep going as long as I could. I… how could I say no?" Jenner questions as Daryl starts beating the shit out of the door again, axe desperately swinging into metal.

Daryl Dixon isn't a fucking rocket launcher. He's not stupid, either. He knows it's pointless, he has to. But I get it. Some people can't just sit there twiddling their thumbs, some people have to  _ do  _ something, even if it's futile, because giving up just isn't an option.

"She was dying. It should have been me on that table. I wouldn't have mattered to anybody, she was a loss to the  _ world! _ " Jenner says gruffly, stabbing the air with his index finger. "Hell, she ran this place, I just worked here. In our field, she was an  _ Einstein. _ Me? I'm, I'm just… Edwin Jenner. She could've done something about this. Not me.

"Your wife didn't have a choice," Rick says gently. "You do. That's all we want. A choice, a chance."

"Let us keep tryin' as long as we can," Lori says, holding Carl close while Daryl's grunts of exertion echo around the room, keeping time with the incessant clanging of the axe.

"I told you, topside's locked down. I can't open those," Jenner relents, scanning his badge and keying a code into a pad on the desk.

The door flies open as Daryl's preparing to take another swing.

"Come on!" He shouts, sprinting out the door. "Let's go!'

"Move it!" Glenn hollers, running after Daryl as the group begins to move for the exit.

I take off towards the door, not sparing the doctor a single glance as I race up the ramp and pause next to Glenn, helping him shepherd the others through the door. Looking down, I see Jenner has pulled Rick aside, whispering into his ear.

"Hey, we've got four minutes left, come on!" Glenn cries desperately, Rick finally moving towards us.

"Let's go, let's go!" T shouts, pulling Jacqui towards the exit.

"No, no! I'm stayin'!" She cries. "I'm stayin', sweetie."

"But that's insane!" T-Dog hisses.

"No, it's completely sane!" Jacqui counters. "For the first time in a long time. I'm not ending up like Jim and Amy. There's no time to argue. And no point, not if you wanna get out!" She says adamantly. "Just get out, get out!"

"Hey Dog, come on! Come on man, let's go, let's go!" Shane shouts, gripping T and pulling him away from Jacqui.

"I'm staying, too," Andrea announces.

"Andrea,  _ no, _ " Dale protests.

It doesn't matter. She's already made her decision. She made it the moment she knew she had the option. It's her choice. We can't force her to live any more than we can force Jacqui, any more than we could force Jim. She sinks to the floor, leaning against one of the workstations.

"Dale!" I hiss. "Come on."

"Just go!" He hollers. "Go!"

Fuck. We don't have time for this. Turning, I sprint out the door, down the hallway and up the several flights of stairs leading to the atrium we'd seen when we first entered this hell hole. When those of us leaving reach the doors, there's a flurry of frantic attempts to get the damn things open, but the glass won't break, the doors won't budge. It's looking pretty fucking hopeless until Carol pipes up from behind.

"Rick, I have something that might help!" She announces, reaching into her bag.

"Carol, I don't think a nail file's gonna do it," Shane says, apparently unable to resist being a sexist creep even in the face of being blown to smithereens.

"Your first morning at camp, when I washed your uniform?" Carol continues breathlessly, producing a grenade from her bag. "I found this in your pocket."

"Holy shit," I crow, rejoicing in this small victory. "File your nails with that, Walsh! Get down!"

Rick sprints to the window, pulling the pin and setting the grenade down gently in the window well and sprinting back towards us.

"Oh shit!" He cries, and I feel a rock solid body hurtle into mine, pinning me to the floor, shielding me from the blast as the grenade lays waste to the window, a waterfall of shattered glass cascading violently to the ground.

"Come on!" Daryl breathes urgently into my ear as he rolls off my back, pulling me up and pushing me towards the window.

We tear through the opening, salvation on the other side, and make a run for our vehicles still parked across the way, taking out several walkers in our path. We pile into the cars, engines roaring to life just as Dale and Andrea step through the shattered window. They sprint towards us, but they're not gonna make it in time.

"Get down!" I shriek, hanging my head out the window of T's van while somebody's horn blares.

Dale and Andrea drop from sight and T pushes my head down as we duck, bracing for the explosion. It's unlike anything I've ever felt or heard. The building ignites, burning from the inside out, the walls crashing down with a blast that shakes my very bones. I snap my head up, taking in the surreal scene before me. The building is absolutely demolished, heat coming off the fire in blistering waves, thick tendrils of black smoke curling into the air. Jacqui…

Before I can contemplate Jacqui's fate further, Shane's bounding from the safety of his Jeep, sprinting towards the spot where Dale and Andrea had gone down. Checking to see if they're alive before we leave, presumably. Suddenly, Daryl's honking. He's yelling, gesturing wildly at something… holy shit. Walkers, dozens of them, drawn by the noise from the blast, one of 'em about to make a meal out of Shane. He whirls around, glaring in Daryl's direction before realizing why Daryl's causing such a fuss, catching the walker just in time, firing a single round through its head.

Dale and Andrea rise from the ground, alive. They'd managed to duck behind a pile of sandbags only a few yards from the Winnebago. Dale helps Andrea up and, along with Shane, they race towards the RV, dodging the dead right and left, but safely making it inside. Once again, we're off. On the road, down a vehicle, missing one of our own, no idea where the hell we're gonna go from here, but we're alive. And we're gonna try like hell to stay that way.


	13. Or Whatever You'd Call It

**Chapter 13**

*Daryl's POV*

We've ended up back at that nursing home. It's a good plan, I guess. That asshole Guillermo owes us. We gave him our guns, the least he can do is give us shelter for a night or two while we figure out where the hell we're gonna go.

"I bet they're barely hanging on," Andrea murmurs, eyeing the lackluster building before us as we all pile out of the vehicles. "What makes you think they'll take in strangers?"

"We're not strangers," Adrienne shakes her head. "They'll take us in."

"All the guns we gave 'em, they'll probably throw us a party," I point out, eyeing Rick. "It's a good call.  _ For once. _ "

We hop through the broken out window into the courtyard, and something ain't right.

"Where're the lookouts?" Glenn hisses.

"Dead," Adrienne says flatly, having caught sight of the feasting walkers around the corner before anyone else.

"Oh, son of a bitch!" Shane snaps, shoving past her.

She just sighs, pulling the hatchet from her belt as the walkers begin to rise and shamble toward us.

"To hell with the noise," Rick hisses, prompting Adrienne to put her hatchet away in favor of a gun.

He's right. There's too many to take 'em all on quietly. Rick, Glenn, Shane, T-Dog, Adrienne, and I start shooting, the noise deafening. At least it's quick. Soon as the gunfire ceases, Adrienne's on the ground, crouching beside the fallen bodies.

"Adie, what the hell are you doin'?" Shane demands breathlessly.

"Restockin' our inventory," she replies, tossing him the loose round she's just pulled from a dead man's pocket. "C'mon, Walsh, gamer rule number one."

_ Gamer rule number one… _ what, video games? She don't look like no goddamn gamer to me. Still, she flits from body to body, checking each for weapons, guns or otherwise, and pocketing any ammo she scrapes up while we all just stare. Guess she ain't the squeamish type. Looking at her, she just fucking screams diva. More interested in shopping and getting her damn nails done than anything else. Merle and me had her pegged for a rich bitch snob the night we met her. Maybe we're wrong, though. By the time she's done looting corpses, she's collected nearly two dozen loose rounds, a rifle, and three semi-loaded handguns. More than enough to make up for the ammo it took to shoot the bastards down. But the noise has attracted more dead ones.

"C'mon!" Rick cries, hearing the snarls of the unseen corpses. "Follow me!"

We all tear up the stairs that old lady had led us to a few days ago, bursting into a hallway littered with dead senior citizens. Sophia starts to cry, and I know she's just a kid, but that ain't what I'm thinking about right now. I'm thinking about how every room in this place could be hiding more walkers and she's drawing 'em right to us, all that crying.

"Put a sock in it!" I hiss, glaring at the little girl. "No use cryin'!"

"You leave her alone!" Carol whispers, holding her daughter close.

"You either shut her up or I will!" I snarl.

"Daryl!" Adrienne snaps, eyes flashing. "Quit bein' an asshole. What the hell's your problem? She's just a kid."

I'm taken slightly aback by her sudden anger. She's glaring at me like… shit, I guess I  _ am _ being an asshole. I back off, trying not to feel the guilt gnawing at my insides. Why the fuck would I feel guilty, though? My ol' man wasn't half so nice when he wanted my mouth shut. These people are just soft. Probably all gonna be dead in a week, anyhow.

"Are we stayin' or goin'?" Lori demands.

"We can't go, we don't have the fuel to  _ get _ anywhere," Adrienne sighs. "And we're about to have geeks from all over the damn city on us."

"She's right," Rick admits defeatedly.

"We hunker down for the night," Shane suggests. "Okay, Rick? You, me, Daryl, we're gonna sweep the bedrooms 'n make sure we're alone."

"Okay, the rest of you barricade those doors," Rick orders.

"All right," Adrienne nods, turning to address the rest of the group as Rick, Shane, and I move out. "Sophia, close your eyes, okay? Carol, in the middle with the kids. Glenn, Dale, y'all stay with 'em, flank the doors, nothin' in or out, don't fire unless you have to. Already drew enough of 'em as it stands. T, Lori, Andrea..."

God damn, she's fucking bossy. Her voice fades as we move from room to room down the hallway, then up the stairs to check the third floor. Nothing. Just a buncha dead bodies, none of 'em going anywhere. Somebody made sure of that. This place wasn't overrun. Somebody looted these people, shot 'em all in the head. We meet up with the others in the big room downstairs.

"Upstairs is our best bet," Rick announces. "We've cleared a few rooms and can barricade those if we have to. We'll be alright."

"You mean it this time?" Carol questions snottily. "Or are you lying to us like all the times before?"

"That's unfair," Lori says firmly. "And no help at all."

"What the hell happened?" Glenn murmurs, staring at the floor.

"What do you think?" Andrea counters. "They got overrun."

I scoff at that, earning an icy glare from the blonde.

"Something to say?" She demands.

"Yeah," I snarl. "How 'bout  _ observant? _ "

"Observant," she repeats derisively. "Big word from a guy like you. Three whole syllables."

"Shut the hell up, Andrea," Adrienne spits. "You're so damn smart, look around. Walkers didn't do this."

"Geeks didn't show up til all this went down," I add. "Somebody attacked this place. Killed all these people, took whatever they wanted. They're all shot in the head,  _ execution style. _ Y'all worried about walkers? I'd be  _ much _ more worried about the people who came and did all this."

"Think a hot shot lawyer would've picked up on that," Adrienne mutters, slumping against the wall next to Glenn.

"Get a dictionary," I snark, unable to help being a little bit smug.

I didn't know Andrea was a lawyer. Makes me hate her that much more for just assuming I ain't smart enough for words containing more than one syllable. I glance over at Adrienne, fueled by the small smirk tugging at the corners of her lips as she watches Andrea struggle to process the fact she ain't the smartest person in the room anymore.

"Look it up," I continue, pointing at my head. "Observant."

*Adrienne's POV*

"They ransacked the kitchen," Shane announces, he and Rick emerging from the hallway.

We've hunkered down for the night in one of the bigger rooms. Darkness fell fast, the only light coming from a couple tea lights we'd lit and a single lantern Daryl had found in a maintenance closet.

"All we found is the one can," Shane continues, tossing the can to Daryl.

"They hit the dispensary, too," Rick sighs heavily. "Tore the door off its hinges. Took everything except this."

He passes a bag of cough drops to Lori as Glenn starts placing paper plates in front of each of us. I wave him away. One can… I'll find something later.

"So we came back for cough drops 'n," Daryl pauses, squinting to read the label on the can. " _ Garbanzo _ beans."

"Is there any water?" Sophia questions.

"Just the one bottle I brought," Shane says softly, pulling the bottle from his pack and handing it to Carol. "Just a few sips, okay honey? Make it last. Gotta go through everybody, okay?"

"What else you got in there?" Andrea asks as Shane returns to his pack, rummaging around inside.

"Salty snacks?" Glenn quips, Shane producing a few packets of chips from his bag.

"Courtesy of the CDC," Shane grins despite himself, shaking the chips triumphantly. "I thought I'd be havin' midnight snacks in my air conditioned room. Didn't know it'd be dinner."

He hurls a packet at me, silently daring me to pass them up. I tear the bag open and pop a chip into my mouth, chewing pointedly in his direction. Daryl's finished prying the can open with his buck knife and takes a seat on the floor beside me while Glenn divvies the beans evenly among plates. Silently, I offer the bag of kettle chips to the surly redneck. He seems surprised at the gesture, hesitantly reaching into the bag as though it might be some kind of trap, like I'm gonna snatch the bag away the moment his fingertips so much as graze a chip.

"Then, uh…" Shane trails off, pulling a bottle from his bag and holding it up.

"Is that to share?" Daryl questions, eyeing the alcohol.

"Seeing as how I owe you my life," Shane nods, passing the bottle to Daryl. "Guess I, uh… so I'm gonna go ahead and be nice to you, from now on."

"I do think I earned the first swallow," Daryl says, not quite but almost smiling.

"I'd go easy on that stuff," Lori cautions as Daryl pops the cap off the bottle.

"Yeah," I sigh, eyeing the bottle wistfully. "We're not exactly safe here."

"Yes, ma'am," Daryl says, his gaze meeting mine as he puts the bottle to his lips.

I don't know what the hell it is, if it's his voice or his lips or just the way he looked at me when he said those two tiny -not to mention  _ innocent _ \- words, but something is suddenly fluttering in my stomach and it's not hunger. It was just a second, but it's like his eyes were burning right through me and my cheeks flush with heat. I drop my gaze to the floor in front of me, hiding behind the hair that tumbles down around my face.

"You all right?" Dale questions, crouching down in front of Andrea.

"Why wouldn't I be?" She questions flatly. "I'm spending the night in a building that stinks so badly of rotten bodies I wanna vomit up my guts, dining on condiments, and hoping I don't get eaten by dead cannibal freaks before dawn. What's not to like? Thank you, Dale."

"Well," I sigh after a moment of awkward silence, getting to my feet. "I'm gonna take a plate to T-Dog."

Dale hands me a plate with a packet of chips and a couple spoonfuls of beans on it, then follows me out into the hallway where T is taking watch. I slump down beside him, offering the plate.

"Garbanzo beans," I announce with a rueful smile. "Canned, but I do 'em good."

He takes the plate, chuckling at my lame attempt at humor. My mama used to say you laugh so you don't cry. Seems about all that's left to do, laugh or cry. A few minutes later, Shane, Rick, Glenn, and Daryl file into the hallway.

"Hey," Shane greets us, he, Rick, and Glenn crouching down around the stairwell. "Kids in there are terrified. And the women."

"The  _ women? _ " I gasp, eyes widening in mock horror. "Those poor things."

"Shut up," Shane sighs. "That's not how I meant it."

"Guys, I'm really sorry," Glenn murmurs.

"Why, did you do all this?" I question, gesturing vaguely. "The hell do you have to be sorry for? We have walls for the night, and that's somethin'."

Glenn nods, still convinced this is somehow his fault. Daryl, still toting the alcohol, sinks down beside me on the stairs. I snatch the bottle from his hand and toss back a swallow, avoiding his eyes. One sip won't hurt, but I take a second for good measure before passing the bottle back to him.

"We're all rattled and exhausted," Rick points out. "No one's thinkin' clearly. But we have to start. Our lives depend on it."

"You're damn right," Shane agrees. "We can't ever let our guard down again. Back at camp, havin' ourselves a fish fry, no one on watch. People just died, they didn't need to."

"Fort Benning," Rick says, considering. "That's the consensus."

"Anywhere but here," Daryl mutters.

"Okay, but gas is still an issue," I point out. "What we had, we used gettin' to the CDC."

"We're wastin' fuel drivin' so many vehicles," Rick agrees. "We need to lose a few. We'll siphon the gas outta whatever cars we don't take. Should get us free of the city."

"It'd be a start," Shane nods. "Let's just try to get a little shut-eye tonight, okay? T, I'll spell you in an hour."

At that, it's decided. Lose some cars, head to Fort Benning. Keep on moving because stopping means giving up. I trail behind Daryl back to the big room, only half listening to Glenn's mutterings about fuel efficiency and cargo space. I grab my bag and lean it against the wall, settling onto the floor with my head resting on the canvas backpack. Somehow, even through the discomfort, sleep finds me.

In the morning, we siphon the gas from both the van and Daryl's truck, filling a couple gas cans. It's not much, but there are abandoned vehicles everywhere. We can take what we need when we need it. Our first priority is getting the hell away from Atlanta. Daryl's taking Merle's bike, leading the way. It's smaller, more fuel efficient, and he can scout ahead if need be. The rest of us pile into the RV and Carol's old Cherokee.

We've been on the road for a while, making our way out of the city. Shane is beginning a lesson on gun maintenance for Andrea, which she sorely needs but is pointless considering her aim could only be worse if she was blind. Or an amputee. Or a blind amputee.

"Oh, jeez," Dale groans, slowing to a halt as we reach a downed semi blocking several lanes. "See a way through?" He shouts to Daryl, who nods, gesturing to follow as he weaves through the traffic jam surrounding the semi.

"Uh, maybe we should just go back," Glenn suggests nervously, searching the map. "There's an interstate bypass-"

"Can't spare the fuel," Dale interrupts, staying close to Daryl while attempting to squeeze the RV through the traffic snarl.

"Can we get through here?" Glenn asks as the cars get increasingly closer together, a chaotic automobile ghost town.

"Daryl's not dumb," I murmur. "If he says we can get through, we can get through."

"Since when is Dixon your best friend?" Andrea scoffs. "You two manage to get a quickie in before we left?"

"What?" I snap, flustered. "No, god no, I… I just trust him is all."

"Mhmm," she simpers.

I scowl at her, trying to ignore the holes Glenn's eyes are burning into the side of my head. We seem to be doing just fine right up until something in the RV blows, engine sputtering as we grind to a stop.

"Sure as hell aren't gettin' through now," I sigh, hopping to my feet and stepping out of the busted ass RV.

"I said it, didn't I say it?" Dale frets, following me from the Winnebago and staring sadly at the steam pouring from the engine. "A thousand times, dead in the water."

"Problem, Dale?" Rick asks, stepping from his car.

"Oh, just the small matter of being stuck in the middle of nowhere with no hope of-" Dale huffs, trailing off as Daryl begins looting the cars. "Okay, that was dumb."

"If you can't find a radiator hose here…" Shane adds, staring at the vast expanse of abandoned vehicles, every make and model imaginable, a permanent traffic jam stretching for miles before us.

"There's a whole bunch of stuff you can find," Daryl points out, rooting through the contents of somebody's trunk.

"Siphon more fuel from these cars, for a start," T suggests, meeting my eyes.

I nod, rounding the RV and grabbing the spare gas cans from the side panel as hopeful murmurs of food and water rise from our small group.

"This is a graveyard," Lori says, stricken. "I don't know how I feel about this."

"They're  _ dead, _ " I point out. "I don't think they'll mind."

This seems to be enough to pacify Lori, at least for the moment, and we all spread out to gather what we can, anything we can use. I pass off the gas cans and hose to T-Dog, opting to pilfer the cars while he siphons. It bothers me a little that I'm not bothered by the bodies so much anymore. That, in this new reality, death has become mundane. Corpses are merely obstacles, so commonplace that the shock has all but worn away completely.

Daryl strides past me and my train of thought totally derails as I recall the heat from his body pressed against my back at the CDC.  _ Yes, ma'am. _ My cheeks flush hot and crimson. Jesus, no wonder Andrea said that shit about a quickie. Shit. He's been one hell of a distraction since the CDC, and Andrea must have noticed. I think Glenn's catching on, too, likely due to my increasingly frequent chats with him and Dale at the front of the RV before we broke down here. I couldn't help my eyes from straying to the man on the bike ahead of us, noticing the way the wind ruffled his hair, the way his muscled arms flexed as he expertly handled the motorcycle. His goddamn  _ arms! _ I'm infuriated that even in the fucking apocalypse I've managed to develop a some kind of crush, my idiotic hormones betraying me despite my better judgement. And of course it would be Daryl Dixon, a man so emotionally unavailable it's almost laughable to even  _ consider _ dating him a possibility. Then again, I guess emotional availability was never a concern before. It's not like I was picky.

"Lori! Under the cars!" Rick whispers harshly, breaking me from my musings. "Carl, Sophia, get down now!"

Shambling towards us is a massive group of walkers. A hundred or so of 'em, maybe more, snarling, weaving aimlessly between the cars. I drop to my belly and scramble underneath a minivan a couple cars over from where T-Dog is. Before I'm settled, the unmistakable sound of flesh tearing reaches my ears and T shoots out from behind a wrecked sedan, clutching his forearm as he tears towards the van I'm hiding beneath. He slumps against the side, blood dripping from his wound at an alarming rate. I quietly maneuver out from under the van, crouching low beside him and taking in the large, jagged cut on his forearm. Horrified, I do the only thing I can think to do. I tear my shirt from my body and wrap it tightly around his arm, attempting to staunch the blood flow. I'm so caught up in trying to help him, I don't realize there's a walker directly behind me until I hear the strangled gurgling, looking up just in time to see Daryl pulling an ice pick from the neck of the living corpse he'd just put down.

"Shh," he murmurs, finger to his lips.

He pulls the dead walker towards me and T-Dog, gently placing the body over T's, looking at me pointedly. I drop to the ground once more, dragging a nearby body towards me and worming beneath it while Daryl yanks a corpse from the open car nearest, dropping to the ground with it positioned over his own body just as several more walkers descend upon us. It works. The smell masks us and the dead just stumble on through, oblivious to our presence among them.

Holy shit. We're safe. The walkers have passed through, so I roll over, crawling off of the body that had served as my camouflage and scrambling across the asphalt to help Daryl uncover T-Dog, who appears to be going into shock from the adrenaline and the blood loss. Daryl eyes my now blood soaked shirt, still wrapped around T's arm, his questioning gaze shifting to me, and I'm suddenly all too aware that my upper half is now clad in only a sports bra with  _ BEAST MODE  _ emblazoned across the front.

Great.

He averts his eyes, ears flushing red, but before I have time to be too embarrassed, a shriek pierces the air. I shoot to my feet, looking in the direction of the screams just as Sophia disappears under the barricade and down the embankment, two walkers stumbling behind her. I watch, horrified, as Rick hurls himself over the barricade, chasing after the little girl and her stalking predators. Daryl and I hoist T-Dog up from the ground, carrying him between us over towards the Winnebago.

"He's hurt!" I holler, trusting the group to take care of T as I tear across the road and leap over the barrier, rolling down the embankment and sprinting after Rick into the woods.

I can hear a struggle, Rick shouting, and hurtle in the direction of his voice. I reach him just in time to see him bring a large rock down onto one of the walkers, crushing it's skull as the second one emerges from the trees. I fly past Rick and grab the second walker from behind, pulling it's arms back as he hurls the bloodied rock at its face. Once its skull is caved in, blood and brain matter oozing from its head, Rick drops the rock, panting heavily.

"Sophia?" I question, frantically searching for any sign of the little girl. "Which way did she go?"

Rick just turns and sprints away. I follow him, the two of us tearing towards a small creek lazily winding its way through the woods. He charges into the water, ducking down under the roots of a large tree forming a small cave in the banks of the stream.

"She was here!" He says desperately, eyes flickering about, panic bleeding into his voice. "I told her stay right here! I couldn't, I couldn't protect her, there were two of them, I had to draw 'em away!"

"Okay," I say calmly. "Okay, she couldn't've gotten far."

"I told her if I didn't come back to run back to the others on the highway," he responds, breaking into a run towards the road.

Together we emerge from the woods and when I see Carol sobbing, clinging to the barrier, eyes crazed with worry, my heart sinks.

"Daryl's a tracker, go back and look for her," I murmur as we approach the group waiting on the highway. "Take Shane 'n Glenn. She'll be okay."

Rick, Shane, Glenn, and Daryl take off into the woods. It's getting late fast though, and there's a sinking in the pit of my stomach knowing that if they don't find her before dark they'll have to come back, leaving her to fend for herself all night. While Lori tends to Carol, I check on T-Dog.

"Hey," I greet him, crouching down to where he's still leaning up on the RV. "You look like shit."

He cracks a small smile, allowing me to help him up from the ground, leaning on me for support.

"Let's get you cleaned up."

I help him into the RV, sitting him down on one of the beds before turning to rifle through his pack for a clean shirt, which I find and toss onto the bed beside him.

"We don't exactly have grade A medical supplies, but we can at least get you cleaned up some," I say conversationally, gathering bandaging supplies and a bottle of water.

I unwrap my shirt from his arm, the blood having congealed slightly as it cooled and the flow slowed.

"Jesus," I breathe, eyeing the gash.

"I can't look at it, just… just get it covered," he winces. "Please."

He needs stitches, even if it's just a piece of fishing line holding his torn flesh together. Unfortunately, that's not something we have access to. A clean bandage will have to do. I get to work, wetting the skin around his cut with just enough water to gently scrub most of the blood away. After rinsing it out with the precious little rubbing alcohol we've got left, I place some gauze padding over the gaping wound, hoping like hell it isn't infected already, and wrap a few strips of medical tape around his forearm to hold it in place.

"There," I murmur, not really satisfied but at least he's not bleeding out. "Shirt," I demand, stepping back and holding my hands out expectantly.

He cooperates, removing his bloodied button down and exchanging it for the dark grey t-shirt I'd retrieved from his bag.

"Drink this," I command, handing him the bottle of water I'd used for the half-assed blood removal. "And rest. You lost a lot of blood. Scared the shit outta me. I'm gonna go see what needs doin' out there."

*Daryl's POV*

"You sure this is the spot?" I question, eyeing the empty space beneath the roots of a tree growing from the creek bank.

"I left her right here," Rick insists. "I drew the walkers way off in that direction up the creek."

"Without a paddle," I sigh, searching the banks for tracks. "Seems where we've landed."

"She was gone by the time Adie and I got back here," Rick informs me breathlessly. "We figured she just took off, ran back to the group. I  _ told _ her go that way and keep the sun on her left shoulder."

"Hey, short round," I holler, waving Glenn aside. "Why don't you step off to one side? You're muckin' up the trail."

Glenn obliges, glaring at me. Let him be pissed. I don't give a shit, I need to look for that little girl's tracks.

"Assuming she knows her left from her right," Shane mutters.

"Shane, she understood me fine," Rick snaps, frustration lacing his tone.

"Kid's tired 'n scared, man," Shane says calmly. "She had her a close call with two walkers. Gotta wonder how much of what you said stuck."

"I got clear prints right here," I murmur. "She did like you said, headed back to the highway. Let's spread out, make our way back."

"Let's go, she couldn't've gotten far," Shane nods, pulling me up from the water, then helping Rick. "Hey, we gon' find her. She'll be tuckered out, hidin' in a bush somewhere."

They follow my lead, the four of us following Sophia's prints into a clearing.

"She was doin' just fine til right here,'' I tell them, crouching down to get a better look at the tracks. "All she had to do was keep goin'. She veered off that way."

"Why would she do that?" Glenn questions.

"Maybe she saw somethin' that spooked her," Shane suggests. "Made her run off."

"A walker?" Glenn asks.

"I don't see any other footprints," I tell them, dismissing the walker theory. "Just hers."

"So, what do we do?" Shane demands. "All of us press on?"

"No, better if you and Glenn get back up to the highway," Rick says. "People are gonna start panicking. Let 'em know we're on her trail, doin' everything we can. But most of all, keep everybody calm."

"I'll keep 'em busy scavengin' cars," Shane nods. "Think up a few other chores. I'll keep 'em occupied. Come on. Hey, if Adie hasn't found herself a shirt yet, we're gonna have ourselves a view."

"Dude, really?" Glenn questions, a look of righteous annoyance crossing his face.

"Come on, man," Shane chuckles. "Don't pretend like you haven't noticed."

"Well, yeah, but still," Glenn mutters, glancing guiltily in my direction. "Don't talk about her like that."

Shane just rolls his eyes. Christ, I wanna kill him. Gross sumbitch. Like we ain't got shit to worry about but some half dressed girl. That's the only reason it pisses me off. We got a missing girl, this ain't the time to ogle the fucking scenery. I don't give a fuck who looks at her. I  _ don't. _ We part ways, Shane and Glenn off to the highway, Rick and I deeper into the woods.

*Adrienne's POV*

After T reluctantly agrees to stay put and get some rest, I step out of the RV just as Glenn and Shane step over the barrier, without Daryl and Rick.

"Where're the others?" I question worriedly.

"Still looking," Glenn replies. "Daryl picked up a trail, they're following it. They'll find her."

"Where's my baby?" Carol asks pleadingly, walking towards the three of us.

"They've got her trail," Shane says, attempting to reassure the terrified mother. "Meantime, we need to get things in order so we can head out when they bring her back."

He takes charge, assigning tasks for everyone, keeping us all occupied. I know what he's doing. We need the distraction, Carol especially. We get to work, looting the cars for necessities before pushing them unceremoniously off the highway. I'm just setting down several sacks of canned goods in the meager supply pile we've accumulated when Carol approaches Dale.

"Why aren't we all out there lookin'?" She asks timidly. "Why are we moving cars?"

"Well, we have to clear enough room so I can get the RV turned around as soon as it's running," Dale explains patiently.

"We've got enough gas now, we can circle back to that bypass Glenn flagged on the map," I point out as the rest of the group converges, arms filled with supplies.

"Goin' back's gonna be easier than tryin' to get through this mess," Shane agrees.

"We're not goin' anywhere til my daughter gets back," Carol protests.

"Hey, that goes without saying," Lori confirms, patting Carol's shoulder.

"Rick and Daryl, they're on it," Shane adds. "Okay? Just a matter of time."

"Can't be soon enough for me," Andrea huffs, tossing a bottle of water to Glenn and taking the cap off her own as Carol walks back over to the barrier, eyes glued to the treeline. "I'm still freaked out from that herd that passed us by, or whatever you'd call it."

"Yeah, what was that?" Glenn questions. "All of them just marching along like that?"

"Well, they're drawn to sound, movin' objects,'' I muse. "Makes sense they'd be drawn to each other, too, all that snarlin' mess."

"Herd," Shane repeats thoughtfully. "That sounds about right. We've seen it. Like that night camp got attacked, just a wandering pack, only fewer," he pauses, clearing his throat. "Okay. Come on, people. We still got a lot to do. Let's start on it, let's go."

We spend the next hour or so scavenging, quietly building up our pile of supplies as the sun sinks lower and lower in the sky. Sure as hell doesn't look like much for the amount of effort it's taking, I think to myself, dumping a few more cans on the ground next to the other non perishable items we've managed to scrape together. My assessment is interrupted when the engine of a car Shane's been cleaning out roars to life, some sort of news broadcast suddenly blaring from the radio.

"The emergency alert system has been activated. The Office of Civil Defense has issued the following message: Normal broadcasting will cease immediately. This is a civil emergency. Please do not venture outside of..."

"Is that a local signal?" Glenn asks as he, Dale, and I jog over to the car.

"It's gotta be within 50 miles of here," Dale says, looking around as though he could see a damn thing.

"Avoid anyone infected. Remain calm. Help is on the way," the recording from the radio finishes, looping back to repeat itself.

"Asshole," Shane mutters, reaching inside the car to shut off the ignition. "Okay, let's get back to work."

And the afternoon continues on, minutes dragging by like hours as we loot car after car. I'm getting more agitated by the damn second, anxiety roaring through my body, making my chest tight and my breaths come in short bursts. No. No, no, no, no,  _ no. _ This can't happen, not now. I drop to the ground, my entire body trembling as terror latches onto my heart, sinking its vicious claws in with a vengeance.

"Adie?" Glenn asks, concern lacing his voice.

But I'm gone, gone, gone. 

"Adie?!" Glenn cries, alarmed now as I pull my knees to my chest, tears pouring from my eyes.


	14. Gratitude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Panic attack

**Chapter 14**

*Daryl's POV*

"Tracks are gone," Rick mutters hopelessly.

"No," I counter, pointing out a clear trail. "They're faint, but they ain't gone. She came through here."

"How can you tell?" He asks. "I don't see anything. Dirt, grass…"

"You want a lesson in trackin' or you wanna find that girl 'n get our ass off that interstate?" I question impatiently.

We ain't walking too much longer before we hear rustling up ahead. It ain't an animal. Nah, it's the size of a person. Just clumsy. Slow. It's a walker. Eventually, it shambles into view. It's just one. I point to Rick, indicating silently he should go ahead, run down in front of it. I'll get it from behind while it's distracted. Rick lets out a whistle and the walker spots him, its snarls cut short when I fire a bolt into the back of its skull. Rick and I make our way to the downed walker, where I pull my arrow from the dead bastard's body.

"Sophia!" I holler, hoping she ain't too far now.

Rick crouches down next to the body, examining it.

"What're you lookin' for?"

"Skin under the fingernails," he says flatly, and I wonder how many bodies he's done this with. "It fed recently," he announces, attempting to pry the walker's mouth open. "There's flesh caught in its teeth."

"Yeah, what kinda flesh?" I ask, eyeing the small bit of bloodied skin he's managed to yank from our dead friend's mouth.

"Only one way to know for sure," he sighs, retrieving his pocket knife and tearing the corpse's shirt open.

"Here," I say, stopping him before he can start, stepping over the body. "I'll do it. How many kills you skin 'n gut in your life? Anyway, mine's sharper."

I plunge my buck knife into the guy's belly, sawing through the dead flesh, tearing it open to reveal muscle and organs.

"Here comes the bad part," I mutter, breathless from the effort.

I reach into the sumbitch's abdominal cavity, guts squelching while I dig around in search of its stomach. I can feel it, all distended and swollen.

"Yeah," I grunt, attempting to pull the stomach out. "Hoss had a big meal not long ago. I feel it in there."

Finally, I manage to wrench the stomach free.

"Here's the gut bag," I announce, dropping it unceremoniously beside the body.

"I got this," Rick insists, cutting the stomach open and digging around the contents within.

Whatever it fed on, it ain't human. I spot a skull among the bloody mess, plucking it out with my knife.

"This gross bastard had himself a woodchuck for lunch," I inform Rick, flicking the skull into the trees and getting back to my feet.

"At least we know," he nods, relieved.

"At least we know," I repeat, glaring at the setting sun.

*Adrienne's POV*

"Guys!" Glenn hollers, terrified, prompting the rest of our group to drop what they're doing and sprint towards me.

"Adie," Dale says calmly, crouching down in front of me. "Adrienne?"

I can't look at him, I can't, I can't, I can't. I can't do this. I can't keep going. There's an ungodly rasping sound and I raise my head, eyes darting around as I try to locate the source of the terrible noise before I realize it's my own breath, ferociously tearing through my throat, not quite filling my shrinking lungs.

"Nobody touch her," Dale commands, holding a hand up as Lori moves towards me.

"What's wrong with her?" Carl's little voice rings out, terrified.

"Adrienne. Adie, sweetheart, look at me," Dale's voice is soothing, lilting, pulling me gently closer to reality, and my eyes snap to his. "Adie, I need you to close your eyes."

I shake my head frantically, eyes wide open while my mind unravels itself, serpentine ribbons of shredded thought dancing about inside my skull.

"Okay. Okay, Adie, listen to me," Dale soothes. "What do you hear? Now, you don't have to tell me, but I need you to work with me here, okay?"

He sounds so reasonable. My mind is reeling. I can't hear anything, I can't, I can't… I listen harder, trying to focus. Come on… I can hear… I can hear leaves rustling in the wind. My breathing slows slightly, my eyes closing automatically.

"Good. Good," Dale coos softly. "Now I'm gonna ask you something. What can you feel?"

I focus. I can feel metal against my back. I'm leaning against a car. It's hot, burning my bare skin. I can feel… I can feel the road underneath me, loose bits of asphalt digging into my body through my jeans. My heart slows, no longer attempting to beat it's way out of my chest. I open my eyes and look around, taking in the worried faces surrounding me.

"I'm fine," I croak, eliciting a chuckle from Dale.

"There she is," he says, smiling warmly as he straightens up, offering me his hand. "You had us spooked for a minute there."

I allow him to pull me up, avoiding eye contact as I dust myself off. My cheeks are burning with embarrassment, I just want everyone to go away.

"What the hell was that?" Andrea demands harshly.

"I don't know."

I'm at a loss for words, throat burning, chest still thrumming with a nervous energy I just can't seem to shake. Andrea scoffs at my lackluster explanation, stalking off in the direction of the RV and disappearing inside.

"I, I… I used to have panic attacks," I offer the others weakly. "I'm sorry I scared you," I add, turning to Carl as the boy throws his arms around my waist and squeezes.

"What can we do?" Lori questions awkwardly, she and I having nothing in common with the exception of caring for Carl.

"Nothin'," I answer truthfully. "I just have to ride 'em out. Unless you happen to have a pharmacy stashed away somewhere," I joke lamely, ruffling Carl's hair. "Really, I'm fine," I insist, willing everyone to get the hell away from me and get back to what they'd been doing.

So they do. Except for Glenn. He hovers over me, staying glued to my side, trying hard not to seem like he's babysitting me and failing miserably. Still, we move on, continuing the tedious but necessary task of searching the cars. Dale, Shane, and Andrea have just finished having an argument about guns, who is or isn't carrying and why, when Glenn spots Rick and Daryl making their way up the embankment.

Just Rick and Daryl.

"You didn't find her?" Carol asks, distraught.

"Her trail went cold," Rick says, voice full of regret. "We'll pick it up again first light."

"You can't leave my daughter out there on her own to spend the night alone in the woods," Carol whimpers, sobs rising in her throat.

"Out in the dark's no good," Daryl points out. "We'd just be trippin' over ourselves. More people get lost."

"But she's 12! She can't be out there on her own," Carol cries. "You didn't find  _ anything? _ "

"I know this is hard, but I'm askin' you not to panic," Rick says emphatically. "We know she was out there."

"And we tracked her for a while," Daryl adds.

"We have to make this an organized effort," Rick announces, addressing the group at large. "Daryl knows the woods better than anybody. I've asked him to oversee this."

"Is that… is that blood?" Carol asks, spotting the crimson stains on Daryl's clothes.

"We took down a walker," Rick explains as Carol's breathing quickens.

"Walker?" Carol breathes, swaying on her feet. "Oh, my god."

I reach out and gently grab hold of her arm, trying to steady her before she collapses.

"There was no sign it was ever anywhere near Sophia," Rick assures her.

"How can you know that?" Andrea questions.

There's a pause, Rick and Daryl exchanging a look.

"We cut the sumbitch open," Daryl explains. "Made sure."

"Oh, god…" Carol whimpers, sinking onto the guardrail. "How could you just  _ leave _ her out there to begin with?" She demands, casting an accusatory glare at Rick. "How could you just leave her?"

"Those two walkers were on us," Rick says, sorrow filling his voice. "I, I had to draw them off. It, it was her best chance."

"Sounds like he didn't have a choice, Carol," Shane backs him up.

"How was she supposed to find her way back on her own?" Carol questions. "She's just a child, she's  _ just a child. _ "

"It was my only option," Rick pleads as she dissolves into tears. "The only choice I could make."

"I'm sure nobody doubts that," Shane says.

They're the right words, but there's an undertone there that tells me he one hundred percent doubts that. Daryl catches my eyes and I know he picked up on the backhandedness of Shane’s comment, too.

"My little girl got left in the woods," Carol says tearfully.

At this, Rick walks off on his own, the crushing weight of guilt evident in the way his shoulders slump forward. This is eating him alive. The group disperses, taking shelter in one of the two vehicles as night falls. I slide into a seat at the table inside the Winnebago, unable to watch as Carol breaks down. Lori and Andrea stay at her side. Glenn and, surprisingly, Daryl follow me into the RV, Daryl making his way to the back as Glenn slides into the seat across from me, a heavy silence falling upon our impromptu camp. After some rummaging, Daryl reappears, striding towards us and roughly pressing a balled up piece of cloth into my hands. I shake it out, unballing the sleeveless shirt he'd just inexplicably bestowed upon me. I glance up at him questioningly.

"It’s gon' get cold," he says gruffly, not quite looking me in the eye. "Didn't know which pack's yours, you can jus' wear that. Better 'n nothin'."

He stomps out of the RV without another word. Glenn just stares at me knowingly.

"What?" I snap, feeling the blush creep onto my cheeks.

"Nothing," Glenn says, smirking as I pull Daryl's shirt on over my sports bra. "You  _ like _ him."

"Shut up," I mutter. "I do not."

I lay down next to T-Dog that night, doubling up due to the limited space and Dale's refusal to let me take watch on the roof. I've  _ ‘had a tough day, Adrienne.’ _ Not as tough as T had it, and sure as hell not even close to as tough as Carol's day had been, I'd argued, but Dale wouldn't hear of it, sending me to bed like a goddamned 5 year old. My annoyance fades, exhaustion taking over as soon as I hit the mattress.

"Man, you smell like motor oil," T-Dog protests, eyeing the shirt I'm sporting. "Hold up, ain't that Daryl's?"

"I'm borrowin' it,'' I mutter. "Go to sleep."

He chuckles but doesn't push it, his own exhaustion beating out both his curiosity and his desire to tease me about the redneck, the two of us succumbing to sleep within minutes.

-

"Everybody takes a weapon," Rick says the next morning, gesturing to the veritable arsenal of blades Carl had found in the cab of a pickup yesterday afternoon.

"These aren't the kind of weapons we need," Andrea argues. "What about the guns?"

"We've been over that," Shane interjects wearily. "Daryl, Rick, Adie, and I are carrying. Can't have people poppin' off rounds every time a tree rustles."

"Adie?" Andrea demands, disgust dripping from her voice. "What the hell, why?"

"I'm trained," I say defensively as Andrea takes in the borrowed shirt I'm sporting, scoffing. "I took a class."

"A few classes, way you tell it," Shane murmurs, eyeing me up and down as I strap a buck knife to my belt. "I believe it, too, now I've seen you shoot."

"It's not the trees I'm worried about," Andrea mutters.

"Say somebody fires at the wrong moment, herd happens to be passing by," Shane snaps. "See, then it's game over for all of us. So you need to get over it."

"The idea is to take the creek up about five miles, turn around and come back down the other side," Daryl announces. "Chances are she'll be by the creek. It's her only landmark."

"Stay quiet and stay sharp," Rick cautions. "Keep space between you but always stay within sight of each other."

"Everybody assemble your packs," Shane orders.

"Way ahead of you, Walsh," I say, hefting my backpack and lingering by the Winnebago.

"Dale, keep on those repairs," Rick instructs. "We gotta get this RV ready to move."

"We won't stay here a minute longer than we have to," Dale replies.

He's up to something, I can hear the invisible wink in his voice.

"Good luck out there," he says fervently. "Bring Sophia back."

"Will you keep an eye on Carl while we're gone?" Rick requests.

"I'm going with you," the boy insists. "You need people, right? To cover as much ground as possible."

"Your call," Lori tells her groaning, indecisive husband. "I can't always be the bad guy."

"Well, he has all of you to look after him," Dale points out. "I'd say he's in good hands."

"Okay," Rick relents. "Okay. But always within our sight, no exceptions."

With that, he walks off to assist everyone still getting ready. Andrea passes him by, heading towards Dale. Oh, shit. She's on the warpath, anger radiating from her like heat from an open flame.

"I'm gonna go check somethin'," I mutter, scurrying away.

It doesn't matter. Andrea makes her point quite clear to the entire camp. Loudly.

"Andrea, I'm begging you," Dale murmurs. "Don't put me in this position."

"I'm not going out there without my gun," she insists. "I'll even say please."

"I'm doin' this for you," he assures her.

"No, Dale, you're doing it for you. You need to stop. What do you think's gonna happen? I'm gonna stick it in my mouth and pull the trigger the moment you hand it to me? If that's the case, why the hell are we letting  _ Adie _ wander around with a knife?"

Ouch. I wrap my arms around my sides protectively, concealing my scar from view and glaring at the ground.

"I know you're angry at me," Dale says, attempting to soothe her. "That much is clear. But if I hadn't done what I did, you'd be dead now."

"Jenner gave us an option. I chose to stay."

"You  _ chose _ suicide!"

"So what's that to you?" Andrea demands. "You barely know me!"

"I know Amy's death devastated you."

"Keep her outta this. This is not about Amy. This is about us. And if I decided that I had nothing left to live for, who the hell are you to tell me otherwise? To  _ force _ my hand like that?"

"I saved your life," he shrugs.

"No, Dale," she snarls. " _ I _ saved  _ yours. _ You forced that on me. I didn't want your blood on my hands and that is the  _ only  _ reason I left that building. What did you expect? What, I'd have some kind of epiphany? Some life-affirming  _ catharsis? _ "

"Maybe just a little gratitude."

" _ Gratitude? _ " Andrea repeats disbelievingly. "I wanted to die my way, not torn apart by drooling freaks. That was  _ my  _ choice. You took that away from me, Dale."

"But-"

"But you know better? All I wanted after my sister died was to get outta this endless horrific nightmare we live every day. I wasn't hurting anyone else. You took my choice away, Dale. And you expect…  _ gratitude? _ "

"I don't know what to say," he mutters, clearly still clinging to the idea he did the right thing.

"I'm not your little girl," she spits. "I'm not your  _ wife _ and I sure as hell am not your problem. That's all there is to say."

I have to admit, I see her point. Jenner's offer was a one time deal. A quick, painless death. Dale forced Andrea to choose differently because he couldn't let her go, which I can understand, I guess, but at the same time… it  _ wasn't _ his choice to make. Once Andrea's said her piece, we all, with the exceptions of T-Dog and Dale, head into the woods, following Daryl's lead up the creek.

"So, uh," Shane begins, the two of us bringing up the rear end of the pack. "I've been thinkin' maybe... maybe it ain't a bad idea for Dale to keep an eye on your gun when we get back."

"What?" I blurt, stricken. "Is this about Andrea?"

"No," he assures me. "No, see, it's... it's about that scar on your arm and you havin' some kinda meltdown on the highway yesterday. I just… I don't know that you're handlin' this, and we've got enough to worry about without two of you-"

"I don't need a babysitter," I snarl, stopping in my tracks, the rest of the group freezing, eyeing us warily. "And I don't owe any of you a goddamn explanation, but bein' that some of y'all wanna beat this horse to death," I wave my mangled arm. "I went through somethin'  _ years  _ ago, tried to get out of it the only way I knew how at the time, but  _ I'm still here, _ Shane, whether I, whether I  _ should _ be or not. And not because anyone gave a damn enough to force me to be, either," I glare pointedly at Andrea. "If I didn't wanna be here, I wouldn't be here, so don't you tell me what I'm  _ handlin'. _ "

"Adie-"

"I'm not havin' this conversation!" I spit vehemently. "Try and take my gun. I'll knock you on your ass, Walsh, and you  _ know _ I can. Come on," I hold my hands up in mock surrender, raising an eyebrow. "No?" I question when he doesn't move. "Okay, then. Let me know if you change your mind, but until then maybe you should spend less time lookin' at me like you know shit about  _ shit _ and more time lookin' for Sophia like the rest of us."

"Christ," he mutters, scratching his head as I shove past him.

I fall into step beside Daryl, seething, as the group starts walking again. I can feel Shane's eyes on my back, but I don't give a shit. Asshole.

-

We're about three miles into our search when we stumble upon a campsite, just a single tent hidden among the trees.

"She could be in there," Shane suggests.

"No shit, Sherlock," I hiss, still angry with him.

"Jesus, Adie," he sighs. "I'm sorry, alright? You can kick my ass later if it'll make you feel better, alright? I'm just sayin' she could be hidin' out in there."

"Could be a whole bunch of things in there," Daryl warns softly.

Rick motions for the others to stay behind as Daryl and I intuitively orient ourselves back to back, quietly approaching the tent, Shane and Rick just behind us. We come to a stop, Daryl raising a finger and pulling out his knife. We all hang back as he moves closer to the tent, peering inside the partially unzipped opening. Apparently not seeing anything that concerns him, he moves on to the other side, lifting the tarp that's covering the tent and looking through the mesh window. He shrugs, glancing over at me. I shrug back in a what the hell kind of way and he nods, stepping in front of the entrance, knife poised to strike. I don't think she's in there.

"Carol," Rick whispers, motioning the woman forward. "Call out softly. If she's in there, yours is the first voice she should hear."

"Sophia? Sweetie?" Carol calls. "Are you in there? Sophia, it's mommy. Sophia, we're all here, baby. It's mommy."

If she's in there, she's not letting us know it. Rick, Shane, and I move forward, covering Daryl while he slowly unzips the bottom half of the tent just enough for him to slip inside. Soon as the tent flap is disturbed, the acrid smell of something long dead and rotting roils out, turning my stomach. I can't see from my vantage point what lies inside the tent, but Sophia hasn't been missing long enough to smell like that. Rick pokes his head inside as Daryl steps in to investigate, instantly turning away, gagging and heaving.

"Daryl?" Carol questions when he doesn't reappear immediately. "Daryl?"

"Ain't her," he says, emerging from the tent.

"What's in there?" Andrea asks.

"Some guy," he replies. "Did what Jenner said. Opted out. Ain't that what he called it?" He questions, slinging his crossbow over his shoulder.

Before anyone can say anything else, church bells ring through the air, loud and close, and we break into a sprint towards the sound.

"What direction?" Shane asks, the group slowing in confusion.

"I think that way, I'm pretty sure," Rick pants.

"Damn, it's hard to tell out here," Shane laments.

"If we hear them then maybe Sophia does, too," Carol says, hope blooming in her voice.

"Someone's ringing those bells, maybe calling others," Glenn points out.

"Or signaling that they found her," Andrea adds.

"She could be ringin' 'em herself, come on!" Rick instructs as we tear towards the sound continuing to echo through the trees.


	15. Am I the Only One Zen Around Here?

**Chapter 15**

We break through the treeline into a small clearing, a church just ahead. There's just one small issue.

"That can't be it. Got no steeple, no bells," Shane says, panting heavily. "Rick."

But Rick's not listening, stubbornly heading for the church anyway. The rest of us follow, sprinting after him through the cemetery surrounding the building. This isn't the church we're looking for, but we can't very well leave Rick's stubborn ass here to fend for himself. We have to stay together. Rick and Daryl take the lead, scaling the steps and slowly pushing open the red chapel doors. There are several walkers inside, sitting in the pews, their heads turning towards us as they begin to rise.

Rick doesn't hesitate, leading Shane, Daryl, and me into the church, each of us selecting a walker and taking it out. I approach a male walker dressed in Sunday best and quickly drive my knife through its ear, piercing through its brain and retracting my weapon, letting the body drop heavily to the floor. Once all the walkers are dispatched, Rick begins to shout, desperately calling for Sophia. My eyes are drawn to Daryl as he strides towards a large wooden crucifix, the body of Christ adorning its face, at the center of the pulpit.

"Yo J.C.," he says. "You takin' requests?" He asks bitterly, turning from the supposed Son of God and walking back towards the doors.

The sound of bells pierces the air again, right over our heads, startling the hell out of everyone. We sprint outside and Daryl, having shoved past the rest of the group, is the first to come across the source of the sound. A small, plastic box and several wires, encased in a metal pipe, connecting to a speaker mounted on the side of the church house. Glenn tears open the box, switching off the electronic bells, praises unto God abruptly ceasing.

"Timer," Daryl huffs, breathing heavily. "It's on a timer."

"I'm gonna go back in for a bit," Carol announces, striding back inside the chapel.

Most of the group follows her but I can't. I stalk off, away from this shit hole and back into the trees. I kick viciously at the ground, churning up the dirt and grass on the forest floor, taking out my anger on the earth itself before sinking to the ground, allowing my tears to flow free. I don't think I've been here two minutes when Daryl's voice scares the shit out of me.

"Hey," he says, and I nearly jump out of my skin, scrambling to my feet. 

"You alright?"

"Peachy," I spit, rather harshly, brushing dirt from my jeans.

He recoils slightly and I'm immediately contrite.

"Sorry," I mumble, straightening. "I just… I had my issues with the whole Jesus loves everybody thing even before all this," I explain. "Bein' here just… it just pisses me off. It's all bullshit."

He's quiet, eyes skyward while he contemplates something. He shifts his gaze, settling on my exposed scar.

"Is that why?" He asks abruptly, cheeks coloring like he instantly regrets uttering the question out loud.

"What, did I try to kill myself 'cause I don't believe in God?"

"Yeah."

"No," I mutter, flattening my wrist against my body, hiding it from him.

He nods, chewing his lip and squinting away from me.

"Sorry," he grunts, avoiding my eyes. "For what I said at the CDC."

"You were drunk."

"I'm a dick when I'm drunk," he says quietly, glaring at the ground. "Ain't an excuse."

"Hey," I murmur, touching his arm.

He flinches back violently and I immediately pull my hand away, my turn to be apologetic. His body is coiled, tense, his breath hitching. Holy shit. It dawns on me suddenly, an epiphany that makes so much sense I can't believe it didn't occur to me  _ weeks _ ago. I mean, I had an idea, but this is proof, physical proof. Someone  _ hurt _ Daryl. Merle, too, probably. Bad. I remain still until his breath calms, his body relaxing fractionally.

"Hey," I try again, this time keeping my distance. "It's okay. Okay? Whiskey under the bridge, right?"

It's a stupid joke, a lame attempt at humor meant to diffuse the situation, which he recognizes as lame and ignores. We make our way back to the group in silence, reaching our companions just as Shane strides over to deliver the plan.

"Y'all gonna follow the creek bed back, okay?" He instructs. "Daryl, you're in charge. Me and Rick, we're just gonna hang back, search this area another hour or so just to be thorough."

"Like hell," I scoff. "Don't be stupid. What if you all get caught in a herd? I'm stayin'."

"Adie-" Shane starts to argue but I silence him with a glare.

"I'm a damn good shot," I insist. "They got the numbers, and I'm better 'n you are at hand to hand, anyway, you  _ need _ me."

"You're splittin' us up," Daryl states, glancing at me before looking to Rick for confirmation. "You sure?"

"Yeah, we'll catch up to you," Shane answers for Rick.

"I wanna stay, too," Carl pipes up. "I'm her friend."

"Just be careful, okay?" Lori tells him, giving him permission before anyone can say otherwise.

"I will," Carl promises happily.

"When did you start growin' up?" Lori asks him, pulling him close and planting a kiss on his head before turning and giving her husband a peck.

"I'll be along soon enough," Rick promises, passing his gun to Lori. "Here, take this. Remember how to use it?"

"I'm not takin' your gun and leavin' you unarmed," Lori protests, shaking her head.

"Here," Daryl says, holding out a pistol and striding towards Lori. "Got a spare. Take it." 

Rick shoots him a look of appreciation as Lori takes the gun. Daryl nods, then turns to me, forever chewing on that damn lip.

"Be safe," he mutters, not looking me in the eye yet still managing to sound sincere.

"You, too," I reply, my heart fluttering despite myself.

I ignore the smirk Glenn shoots my way, and with that they're off.

"Give me a minute?" Rick requests, loping back into the church.

Shane, Carl and I follow, taking a seat on the steps outside the chapel while we wait for Rick to come back out. It's not long.

"You get what you needed?" Shane asks as Rick strides down the stairs.

"Guess I'll find out," he replies.

We follow him, wandering through the woods, looking for any sign of Sophia. But everything looks the same, and, as the sun rises higher, arcing across the sky and beginning to sink, any hope I'd had left drains from me almost completely. Until we hear movement, branches snapping right near us. We follow Rick's lead, moving in the direction of the noise. Out from the trees steps a massive buck. He's beautiful, a reminder that the dead haven't snuffed out  _ every _ living creature that called this godforsaken place home. Not yet. Shane aims his rifle.

"Shane," Rick says, breaking Shane's attention away from the animal and nodding to Carl, who is entranced.

"Adie, look," he breathes, awestruck.

"I'm lookin', bud."

The deer stands frozen in place, watching as Carl slowly, fearlessly approaches. He's within a yard of the deer when a gunshot shatters the silence, animal and child dropping to the ground.

*Daryl's POV*

I ain't sure when I started giving a shit, but I don't like this at all. Leaving her. And with Shane, of all goddamn people. She seems to be able to hold her own, but I don't trust the guy as far as I could throw him. And somehow I've been taken in by this group despite myself, not that I had anywhere else to be, and now I'm in charge of getting their asses back to camp. We ain't even a mile in when the inevitable bitch fest begins.

"So this is it?" Carol questions, slumping onto the trunk of a downed tree. "This the whole plan?"

I can't really blame her. It's her damn kid that's missing, if anyone's got the right to be upset, it's her.

"Guess the plan is to whittle us down into smaller 'n smaller groups," I mutter, still thinking of Adrienne, pissed 'cause I'm still thinking about her.

"Carrying knives and pointy sticks," Andrea adds bitterly. "Oh, but not  _ precious _ Adrienne. 'Cause she's  _ so _ stable."

Guess I ain't the only one thinking about her.

"Shut up," Glenn sighs. "She  _ is  _ stable, okay? Just… ease up on her, all right? She didn't take your gun. Dale did."

"I see you have a gun," Andrea spits pointedly, eyeing Lori.

"Why, you want it?" She asks, done with the attitude. "Here, take it," she says, offering the weapon to Andrea. "I'm sick of the looks you're givin' me."

Andrea takes the gun with an exasperated sigh, like it ain't what she wanted the whole damn time anyway.

"All of you," Lori continues, taking a seat on the log next to Carol. "Honey, I can't imagine what you're goin' through and I would do anything to stop it," she says, addressing the woman beside her. "But you have gotta stop blamin' Rick. It is in your face  _ every _ time you look at him. And when Sophia ran, he didn't hesitate. Did he? Not for a second! I don't know that any of us would have gone after her the way he did."

Adrienne did. She fucking vaulted over that goddamn barricade and rolled down the embankment. And that was after she saved T-Dog. He probably would've bled out if it wasn't for her. Jesus, get out of my head, woman.

"Or made the hard decisions that he had to make or that anybody coulda done it any differently," Lori continues, met with a resounding silence. "Anybody?" 

She eyes us each in turn, but we all know she's right. Even Carol knows that. Rick seems to have become our de facto leader. Probably pisses Shane right off. Or maybe Shane's just pissed he ain't gonna be fucking Lori no more.

"Y'all look to him, and then you blame him when he's not perfect," she huffs. "If you think you can do this without him, go right ahead.  _ Nobody _ is stoppin' you." 

She finishes her lecture, sipping from her canteen while her words sink in. Andrea moves first, returning the gun Lori had just given her.

"We should keep moving," she says, her half-assed way of saying Lori's right.

And we  _ should _ keep moving, we're running out of daylight. So we do, even when a single gunshot sounds in the distance, hoping like hell it ain't one of ours.

*Adrienne's POV*

Rick lurches forward, lifting his son from the ground, blood soaking through his shirt immediately. A large man in camouflage has just come running into the clearing, uttering desperate apologies.

"Sir, please, we don't have time!" I holler. "Where do you stay? He needs help!"

The man points due south, Rick tearing off instantly. I'm right on his heels, running like hell, Shane and the hunter just behind. But the rifleman is getting winded, not able to keep up.

"Hey!" Shane screams, grabbing hold of the larger man as though he can break his physical limits through sheer force of will. "You move, shithead! Come on, get us there!"

"How far?" Rick yells desperately. "How far?!"

"'Nother half mile! That way!" The man shouts breathlessly, pointing. "Hershel! Talk to Hershel, he'll help your boy!"

Rick and I fly across the field towards a large, white farmhouse. Shane falls behind, loudly serving as the world's worst motivator as he attempts to get the rifle toting stranger to run faster than he's capable.

"Almost there! Almost there, come on Rick! Come on!" I pant as Rick's body begins to rebel, exertion taking its toll. "Just a little further!"

We're still a few yards from the house when several people burst from the front door, an elderly man, two women, a little blonde slip of a girl, and a young boy armed with a bat.

"Was he bit?" The old man shouts.

"Shot," I holler, slowing as we draw near the porch steps.

"By your man," Rick adds as the older gentleman comes bounding down the steps towards us.

"Otis?" The elder of the two women asks incredulously.

"He said find Hershel! Is that you?" I ask desperately.

"Help me, help my boy!" Rick cries.

"Get him inside," Hershel commands. "Inside!"

We follow the group of people into the house, Hershel shouting orders as he leads us to a bedroom, directing Rick to lay Carl's bleeding body onto a single bed. Even in the modest bed, he still looks so small. He's only just twelve years old, he can't be gone.

"Is, is he alive?" Rick questions, shock setting in.

"Pillow case," Hershel orders, but Rick is still stammering, staring at his son in horror. "Pillowcase, quick!" Hershel orders again, and I snatch a pillow from the bed, stripping it of its case. "Fold it, make a pad," I do so, handing it to Rick and getting the hell out of the way. "Put pressure on the wound," Hershel commands.

I step back, watching as Hershel pulls out a stethoscope, moving it around Carl's chest.

"I've got a heartbeat. It's faint."

Faint, but there. It's a small relief, just enough to keep me going.

"I got it, step back," the older, blonde woman I now know as Patricia orders Rick gently.

"Maggie, I.V.," Hershel states calmly, setting aside the stethoscope.

"We need some space," the dark haired woman, Maggie, tells Rick.

"Your names?" Hershel demands.

"Rick, Rick, I'm, I'm, I'm Rick," Rick stammers, eyes never leaving his son.

"Adrienne," I state calmly, meeting the older man's eyes. "This here's Carl, please help him," I add, tears beginning to fall.

"Adrienne, Rick, we're gonna do everything we can, okay? You need to give us some room. Now."

Rick doesn't seem to be able to process reality right now. I take him by the hand, gently tugging him from the room.

"C'mon. Rick. C'mon, it's gonna be okay. It's gonna be okay."

It has to be.

We spot Shane and Otis from the window and step onto the porch as they draw closer, Rick damn near catatonic, his face a mask of pure anguish.

"He's alive?" Otis questions. "He's still alive?"

I nod somberly, meeting Shane's eyes. He nods back, digging into his pack and pulling out a red cloth, gently wiping Carl's blood from our friend's face, consoling him as best he can.

"Where is he?" Shane whispers. "Where is he, is he okay?"

I jerk my head towards the interior of the house, following Rick and Shane inside, Otis trailing behind me as we step into the now much calmer room.

"You know his blood type?" Hershel asks, applying pressure to the wound on Carl's chest.

"A-positive, same as mine," Rick answers.

"That's fortunate," Hershel says. "Don't wander far, I'm gonna need you. What happened?"

"I was trackin' a buck," Otis explains. "Bullet went through it. Went clean through."

"The deer slowed the bullet down, which certainly saved his life," Hershel announces. "But it did  _ not _ go through clean. It broke up into pieces. If I can get the bullet fragments out… and I'm countin' six-"

"I never saw him," Otis interrupts, speaking to Patricia fervently. "Not until he was on the ground."

"Lori doesn't know," Rick realizes. "My wife doesn't know, my wife doesn't know…"

He breaks into tears, Shane shushing him gently while everything falls apart.

*Daryl's POV*

We're making pretty good time. If we keep up our pace, we'll be back on the interstate well before daylight ends. Still, Adrienne and the others should've caught up by now. I've been trying to focus on getting the group back, but anxiety over that damn gunshot's making it difficult. Seems I ain't the only one, though.

"You still worryin' about it?" Andrea asks, everyone stopping in our tracks to look at Lori, who has turned back repeatedly as though if she looks just one more time she'll pinpoint the source of the shot.

"It was a gunshot," she announces for the dozenth time.

"We all heard it," I point out, patience worn real thin with both Lori and myself.

"Why one?" Lori demands. "Why just one gunshot?"

"Maybe they took down a walker," I shrug, trying to appear unconcerned despite the inexplicable anxiety coursing its way through my veins.

"Please don't patronize me, you know Rick wouldn't risk a gunshot to put down one walker," she retorts. "Or Shane  _ or _ Adie, they'd do it quietly."

"Shouldn't they have caught up with us by now?" Carol asks softly.

"There's nothin' we can do about it anyway,'' I point out frustratedly. "Can't run around these woods chasin' echoes."

"So what do we do?" Lori questions.

"Same as we've been," I shoot back. "Beat the bush for Sophia, work our way back to the highway."

"I'm sure they'll hook up with us back at the RV," Andrea soothes.

We start to push on, but have to stop again for Carol and Andrea, neither of whom are moving.

"I'm sorry for what you're going through," Andrea says. "I know how you feel."

"I suppose you do. Thank you," Carol replies, turning tearily towards the rest of us. "The thought of her out here by herself… it's the not knowin' that's killin' me. I just keep hopin' and prayin' she doesn't end up like Amy."

The words spill out before she even realizes what she's saying, Andrea looking like the woman had just backhanded her. Hell, even I think it's insensitive. And I'm an asshole.

"Oh, god…" Carol tries to amend, features awash in guilt. "That's the worst thing I ever said."

"We're all hoping and praying with you," Andrea says graciously, swallowing her actual feelings to spare the mother of a missing child any more discomfort. "For what it's worth."

"I'll tell you what it's worth," I cut in, about damn sick of this bullshit. "Not a damn thing. It's a waste of time, all this hopin' and prayin'. 'Cause we're gonna locate that little girl, she's gonna be just fine. Am I the only one zen around here?" I demand, turning away from the women and Glenn, continuing our trek along the creek bed. "Good  _ lord. _ "

*Adrienne's POV*

"Why'd I let him come with us?" Rick questions.

We're sitting in the parlor, Carl still being tended to in the bedroom.

"I shoulda sent him with Lori," Rick adds.

"Rick," I murmur. "You can't start down that road."

"You know, you start that…" Shane adds, picking up where I left off. "You'll never get that monkey off your back."

"Little girl goes missing," Rick says, seemingly abruptly. "You look for her. Simple. You said call it, head back."

"Doesn't matter what I said," Shane counters.

I slip out of the room quietly, stepping onto the front porch. I don't want to impose. Shane's Rick's best friend, his brother. Not a whole hell of a lot I can do for Rick right now, but Shane can get through to him. I can hear a door open from inside the house, Rick being called into the room. I sprint inside, Carl's anguished cries the most welcome sound I've ever heard as I scurry into the room behind Rick and Shane. Crying means he's alive, alive and conscious.

"You, hold him down!" Hershel orders Shane, Carl thrashing beneath the doctor's hands.

Shane rushes forward, pinning Carl's arms to his sides. I stand beside him, smoothing my hand over Carl's sweat slicked hair while Patricia preps Rick's arm for the transfusion.

"Dad!" Carl howls.

"I got him," Shane says, staring in horror as Hershel fishes a bullet fragment from Carl's chest.

"Stop, you're killing him!" Rick screams, viciously tearing himself from Patricia's grip as his son's cries intensify.

"Rick!" Hershel shouts right back. "Do you want him to live?"

"He needs blood," Patricia hollers.

"Do it now!" Shane roars, breaking through to Rick.

He settles, allowing Patricia to finish setting up the transfusion, just as Carl's cries stop, his body going limp.

"Wait, wait, wait…" Shane mutters, beginning to panic.

"He's breathin'!" I tell him quickly, stopping the hysteria before it can begin. "He's breathin', look,'' I point, Carl's little chest rising and falling.

"He just passed out," Hershel confirms, eyeing the bullet fragment. "One down, five to go."

In under a minute, Carl is bandaged up and receiving a transfusion, courtesy of Rick.

"Pressure's stable," Hershel informs us, wrapping his stethoscope around his neck.

"Lori needs to be here," Rick states. "She doesn't even know what's goin' on, I gotta, I gotta go find her, bring her back."

"You can't do that," Hershel says firmly.

"She's his  _ mother, _ " Rick argues. "She needs to know what's happened, her son's lyin' here  _ shot. _ "

"And he's going to need more blood," Hershel points out, turning to address me. "He can't go more than fifty feet from this bed."

"He's not goin' anywhere," I assure him.

Rick rises from his chair, damn near landing right back on his ass, woozy from the blood no longer present in his system.

"Oh, hell, Rick," I breathe, Shane catching him before he can fall. "Hershel, sir, I'm A-positive. Do you have the supplies here to alternate? He can't do this too many times, we haven't been eatin' and have had very little water,'' I explain. "I'd like to take the next one, if that's possible. Please."

Hershel nods his assent, Patricia hurrying from the room to fetch a second set of transfusion supplies while Shane and I follow Rick from the room, Maggie and Otis looking up as we exit.

"He's stable for now," Shane provides as Rick collapses into a chair outside the bedroom door.

"Lori has to be here, Shane, she has to know," Rick says emphatically.

"Okay, I get that. I'm gonna handle it," Shane promises, and I'm suddenly incredibly grateful for his presence. "But you gotta handle your end."

"My, my end?" Rick questions confusedly.

"Your end is bein' here for your son,'' Shane explains, crouching down in front of him. "Even if he didn't need your blood to survive, there's no way I'd ever let you walk out that door, man. I, I'd break your legs if you tried. And Adie, Adie'd hold you down while I did it," he chuckles, nodding at me. "You know that, right? If somethin' happened to him and you weren't here… if… if he slipped away-"

"Shane!" I interject sharply.

" _ While you were gone, _ " he continues, glaring at me before returning his gaze to Rick. "You would never forgive yourself for that. And neither would Lori, man."

"You're right," Rick nods.

"When was I ever wrong?" Shane asks with a smirk.

"I can think of several occasions," I mutter, earning a chuckle from Shane.

"You know when uh…" he says softly, even far away. "When you were in that hospital, the one you were never supposed to leave, man… you shoulda seen Lori. She was like… the strength of that woman… you can't imagine it," he says emphatically. "See that's, see that's what you gotta have now. I mean Carl, he needs that from you. So you wire yourself tight, my friend. You hear?" He asks, the two men holding onto each other. "You got the hard part. Just leave the rest to me, okay?"

"Alright," Rick answers, putting all the faith he has into the man beside him.

"Alright," Shane echoes as Hershel opens the door and steps into the room.

"He's outta danger for the moment," he announces. "But I need to remove those remaining fragments."

"How?" Rick questions. "You saw how he was."

"I know, and that was the shallowest one," Hershel points out. "I need to go deeper to get the others."

"Oh, man…" Shane mutters.

"There's more," Hershel adds.

"Tell me," Rick orders.

"His belly's distended, his pressure's droppin', which means there's internal bleedin'," Hershel explains. "A fragment must've nicked one of the blood vessels. I have to open him up, find the bleeder and stitch it. And he can't move while I'm in there, I mean  _ at all. _ If he reacts the same as before, I'll sever an artery and he'll be dead in minutes."

"What do you need?" I question, grabbing Rick's hand and holding tight. "What can we do?"

"To even try this, I have to put him under," Hershel informs us. "But if I do, he won't be able to breathe on his own. Same bad results."

"What'll it take?" Rick demands hoarsely, tears welling in his eyes.

"You need a respirator," Otis announces. "What else?"

"The tube that goes with it, extra surgical supplies, drapes, sutures," the doctor lists. 

"If you had all that, you could save him?" Rick asks.

"If I had all that, I could  _ try. _ "

"Nearest hospital went up in flames a month ago," Otis points out, then something occurs to him. " _ The high school. _ "

"That's what I was thinking," Hershel agrees. "They set up a FEMA shelter there. They would have everything we need."

"Place was overrun last time I saw it," Otis says. "You couldn't get near it. Maybe it's better now."

"I said leave the rest to me," Shane says wearily, a half-hearted grin spreading across his face. "Is it too late to take that back?"

"I'll go with you," I volunteer.

"No, Adie you need to be here, to stay with Rick," Shane counters. "Carl's gonna need more blood and, even  _ if _ I was gonna let you go, I'm not a match."

Let me go. Like it's his goddamn choice. He's right, though.

"I hate you goin' alone," Rick mutters.

"Come on," Shane scoffs good-naturedly. "Doc, why don't you do me a list and draw me a map?"

"Please," I add, earning a withering glare from Shane.

"You won't need a map," Otis announces. "I'll take you there. Ain't but five miles."

"Otis,  _ no, _ " Patricia protests.

"Honey, we don't have time for guesswork and  _ I'm _ responsible," Otis insists. "I ain't gon' sit here while this fella takes this on alone. I'll be alright."

"Are you sure about this?" Shane questions dubiously, not so subtly eyeing the large man up and down.

God, he’s a dick sometimes. Still, I get the concern. If that high school is full of walkers, they're gonna need to get gone real fast and Otis isn't in the best shape for running.

"Do you even know what any of the stuff he's talkin' about looks like?" Otis demands.

"Come to think, no," Shane admits.

"I've been a volunteer EMT," Otis informs him. "I  _ do. _ Now, we can talk about this til next Sunday, or we could just go do it real quick."

"I'll take right quick," Shane nods.

"I should thank you," Rick murmurs.

"Wait til that boy of yours is up and around," Otis insists. "Then we'll talk. I'll gather some things."

At that, he leaves the room, Patricia on his heels.

"Where is she?" Maggie questions. "Your wife?"

"She's with some of our group," I inform her when Rick doesn't. "One of ours went missin', last seen by that creek a couple miles east."

"I know the one," Maggie nods.

"We were lookin' for her when…" I trail off, the unbidden image of Carl's body hitting the ground flashing before my eyes. "We split up, the rest of 'em should be about 7 miles from here if they kept to the creek bed."

"Got it."

"We have a couple others on the interstate," I tell her. "With our vehicles, waitin' for us. We broke down near a big traffic jam about a half mile or so from the creek."

"I know where that is," Maggie assures me. "I'll take my horse out and bring Lori back, let the others know where to find us. I can get her here before sunset."

"Thank you," Rick says quietly.

She offers him a quick smile before she, too, disappears from the room. We have a plan. Everything's gonna be just fine. Otis and Shane are gonna hit that FEMA shelter. Maggie's gonna bring Lori. And I'm next up on blood duty, Rick looking paler and sicker by the minute.


	16. Dandy as Hell

**Chapter 16**

*Daryl's POV*

Due to the frequent stops, we're still a ways from the interstate and the sun is setting rapidly. We've searched all we can for the day, and found nothing.

"We'll lose the light before too long," I announce. "I think we should call it."

"Let's head back," Lori agrees.

"We'll pick it up again tomorrow?" Carol asks.

"Yeah, we'll find her tomorrow," Lori assures her.

So we double back, heading towards the road empty-handed. After just a few short, blissful minutes spent without any bitching or bullshit, Andrea breaks the silence.

"How much farther?"

"Not much," I inform her. "Maybe a hundred yards, as the crow flies."

"Too bad we're not crows," she mutters.

Somehow within seconds of her whining, she screams and we can't see her right off. Where the hell'd she get to? Those of us who managed to stay together take off in the direction of her frantic cries, spotting her on the ground in a small clearing several yards away, a walker looming over her while she thrashes hysterically. And she thinks she should be trusted with a gun. Before we can get to her, a dark haired woman on horseback thunders through, wielding a bat, and quickly disposes of the geek.

"Lori!" She cries, addressing Andrea. "Lori Grimes?"

"I'm Lori," Lori says as we draw even with the stranger.

"Rick sent me, you gotta come now," the woman says firmly.

"What?" Lori demands.

"There's been a accident, Carl's been shot," Horse Girl informs us. "He's still alive but you gotta come now. Rick needs you, just come!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," I protest. "We don't know this girl! You can't get on that horse."

But she can, and she is.

"Adie said you had others on the highway? That big traffic snarl?" Horse Girl demands, Lori scrambling into the saddle behind her.

_ Adie,  _ huh? So they're buddies, then. Great. More fucking people.

"Uh-huh," Glenn says, staring at this chick like he's never seen a live one before.

"Backtrack to Fairburn Road," she commands. "Two miles down is our farm, you'll see the mailbox, name's Greene. Hyah!"

She gallops off quicker than she came, Lori hanging onto her waist for dear life. We're all just standing here, trying to process whatever the hell just happened, when the dead bastard on the ground sits up, wheezing.

"Shut up!" I snap, shooting an arrow through its head and marching onward towards the road.

*Adrienne's POV*

"This place is beautiful," Rick murmurs.

He, Hershel, and I are on the front porch, Rick and I a little worse for wear, waiting for Maggie to return. He's right, this place is gorgeous. It looks like something right out of a painting.

"Been in my family 160 years," Hershel says proudly.

"I can't believe how serene it is," Rick says. "How untouched. You're lucky."

"We weren't completely unscathed," Hershel points out. "We lost friends, neighbors. The epidemic took my wife, my stepson."

"I'm sorry," Rick nods.

"I'm sorry," I echo redundantly.

"My daughters were spared," Hershel continues. "I'm grateful to God for that. These people here, all we've got left is each other. Just hopin' we can ride it out in peace til there's a cure."

"There's not a cure," I announce. "Sir."

"We were at the CDC," Rick explains. "It's, it's, it's gone now. There is no cure."

"I don't believe it," the doctor shakes his head, smiling. "When AIDS came along, everyone panicked. One boy in town came down with it and some parents pulled their children from school so they didn't have to sit in the same room."

"This isn't AIDS, sir," I shake my head. "This is, this is somethin' else. We've seen it. What it does."

"This is a whole other thing," Rick agrees.

"That's what we always say," Hershel insists. " _ This one's different. _ "

"Well, this one is," Rick counters.

"Mankind's been fightin' plagues from the start," Hershel scoffs. "We get our behinds kicked for a while, then we bounce back. It's nature correctin' herself. Restoring some balance."

"I wish I could believe that," Rick murmurs.

"That's bullshit," I blurt.

"Young lady, I will not tolerate that kind of language in my house or around my children," Hershel snaps.

"I'm sorry, sir," I mutter, chagrined. "I just… we saw it. At the CDC, we _saw_ it. This isn't AIDS or nature just, just cullin' the herd."

Before he can argue, the sound of hoof beats thundering across the ground alert the three of us to Maggie and Lori's arrival just before they break through the trees.

*Daryl's POV*

We manage to make it to the highway before the sun sets, Dale greeting us near the guard rail as Glenn relays the story of the chick on the horse.

"Shot?" He questions. "What do you mean, shot?"

"I don't know, Dale," Glenn says. "I wasn't there. All I know is this chick rode outta nowhere like Zorro on a horse and took Lori."

"You  _ let _ her?" Dale demands incredulously, turning to me as I climb over the rail.

"Climb down outta my asshole, man," I spit wearily. "Rick 'n Adrienne sent her. She knew Lori's name.  _ And _ Carl's."

"I heard screams," Dale announces, worried gaze settling upon Andrea. "Was that you?"

"She got attacked by a walker," Glenn informs him, watching the angry, sulking blonde stomp towards the RV. "It was a close call."

"Andrea, are you all right?" Dale demands, brows furrowing in concern.

Andrea turns on her heel, offering the older man nothing more than a scathing glare before disappearing inside the RV to bemoan her misery, slamming the door behind her, like she's the only one who's got any fucking problems. I'm sick of this goddamn group of people, absolutely fed the fuck up with this cluster fuck of a day. We were supposed to find Sophia, get our asses off this goddamn interstate. Simple. Why can't shit just  _ be  _ simple? Almost think I'd be better off just leaving. Almost.

*Adrienne's POV*

Not long after Maggie brought Lori back here, Carl needed more blood. Rick protested but I won the argument, mostly due to sheer stubbornness, and he wasn't in any kind of shape to continue the debate anyway, so here I sit, needle in my arm, blood flowing from my body into Carl's. Well, flowing from my body into a tube into a bottle into  _ another _ tube into Carl's body.

"Thank you," Lori breathes sincerely, grabbing my hand as I stand up just a hair too quickly, swaying on my feet.

"Of course," I murmur weakly, clinging to her.

She leads me to the kitchen where Rick is stationed beside the Greene's dining table, nursing a tall glass of orange juice. Hershel stands near him, a second glass of juice in hand.

"Sit," he commands, placing the glass on the table in front of the seat he'd indicated.

I heave myself into the chair and take the glass, drinking gratefully.

"And I thought you were pale before," Lori remarks, eyeing me with concern.

"I'm fine," I assure her.

"Okay," she nods, sighing and turning her attention to Hershel. "So I understand when Shane gets back with this other man-"

"Otis," Hershel interrupts.

" _ Otis, _ " she repeats. "The idiot who shot my son."

"Ma'am, it was an accident," Hershel points out.

"I'll take that under advisement later," she says. "For now he's the idiot who shot our son."

I can't help myself. I haven't eaten since the night at the old folks home, and that combined with the blood loss is making me delirious. I snort, juice surging into my nose and subsequently causing me to hack up a lung while Hershel stares disapprovingly.

"Sorry," I choke out, sobering under Hershel's glare.

"Lori, they're doin' everything they can to make it right," Rick says gently.

"Okay, as soon as they get back you can perform this surgery?" Lori questions.

"I'll certainly do my best," Hershel promises.

"Okay," Lori says nodding, slightly mollified. "I mean, you've done this procedure before?"

"Well, yes," Hershel says. "In a sense."

"In a  _ sense? _ " Lori repeats.

"Honey, we don't have the luxury of shopping for a surgeon," Rick points out.

"No, I understand that," Lori says with a tired chuckle. "But I mean, you're a doctor right?"

"Yes, ma'am," Hershel says, nodding. "Of course. A vet."

"A veteran?" Lori asks hopefully. "A combat medic?"

"A veterinarian," Hershel amends.

Lori turns to Rick, shock written all over her face, momentarily at a loss for words.

"And you've done this surgery before on what?" She questions, finding her voice. "Cows? Pigs?"

"I, I have, I have to sit," Rick says faintly, collapsing haphazardly onto the dining chair beside me.

"You're completely in over your head, aren't you?" Lori questions, holding Rick steady, gripping his shoulders.

"Ma'am,” Hershel counters. “Aren't we all?"

*Daryl's POV*

"I won't do it," Carol announces as the group gathers, working out who's going where and when. "We can't just leave."

"Carol, the group is split," Dale points out wearily. "We're scattered and weak."

"What if she comes back and we're not here?" Carol demands. "It could happen."

"If Sophia found her way back and we were gone, that would be awful," Andrea agrees.

I think it over, somehow still seemingly in charge in the absence of both Rick and Shane. They're right. That little girl is still alive, she needs somebody here for her when she comes back. Some supplies and a note, at least. Something so she don't think we just gave up on her.

"Okay," I relent. "We gotta plan for this. I say tomorrow morning is soon enough to pull up stakes. Give us a chance to rig a big sign, leave her some supplies. I'll hold here tonight, stay with the RV."

"If the RV is staying, I am too," Dale announces.

"Thank you," Carol says earnestly. "Thank you both."

"I'm in," Andrea volunteers, never one to be left out of where she thinks the action will be.

For some reason that same quality that's so attractive in Adrienne is just fucking irritating in Andrea. Maybe that's just 'cause Adrienne's actually helpful. Andrea argues, tries to do things her way without a thought regarding the cost. Wait a minute,  _ attractive? _ I backtrack in my head. Shit. Now ain't the time. Even if I thought she was attractive, which I  _ don't. _ She ain't my type. Never mind the fact I ain't even got a type. But if I did, it ain’t her.

"Well if you're all staying, then I'm-" Glenn starts.

"Not you, Glenn," Dale interrupts. "You're going. Take, take Carol's Cherokee."

"Me?" Glenn scoffs, upset. "Why is it always me?"

"You have to find this farm, reconnect with our people and see what's going on," Dale says firmly. "But most important, you have to get T-Dog there. This is not an option. That cut has gone from bad to worse. He has a very serious blood infection." 

What the fuck? Why didn't either one of them open their damn mouth and say something sooner? I stride over to my brother's bike, Dale still rambling instructions to Glenn, and pull Dale's shop towel from the handlebar it's hung over and retrieve the large plastic freezer bag of various pharmaceuticals my brother felt were important enough to keep on hand from under the seat. Turns out they were. Some of 'em, anyway. Can’t think of nothin’ we’re gonna need meth for, but whatever.

"Keep your oily rags off my brother's motorcycle," I snap, tossing Dale his rag and setting the bag on the hood of Carol's car. "Why'd you wait til now to say anything?" I demand, rooting through the bag. "Got my brother's stash. Crystal, X, don't need that... got some  _ kick-ass _ painkillers," I announce, tossing the bottle to Glenn. "Doxycycline," I find what I'm looking for, tossing this bottle to Dale. "Not the generic stuff neither, it's first class. Merle got the clap on occasion."

*Adrienne's POV*

"Pressure's dropping again," Hershel says worriedly. "We can't wait much longer."

"Take some more, whatever he needs," Rick says determinedly, holding his arm out to the doctor. "Then I'm gonna go."

"Go?" Lori and I question in unison.

"Go where?" Lori adds.

"He said five miles, they should be long back by now," Rick insists. "Something's gone wrong."

"Are you insane? You're not goin' after them," Lori says incredulously.

"Rick, listen to your wife," Hershel warns.

"If they got into trouble-" Rick begins to argue.

"I'll go," I volunteer. "Alright? You stay. I'll go."

"You're in no condition," Hershel says firmly, looking from me to Rick and back. "Either of you. You've given too much blood, you're barely on your feet," I open my mouth to protest, but he cuts me off. "You wouldn't make it across the yard."

"If somethin' happened, I have to go," Rick retorts.

"No," Lori says. "Your place is here. If Shane said he'll be back, he'll be back, he's like you that way."

"I can't just sit here!" Rick argues.

"That's exactly what you do!" Lori snaps. "If you need to pray or cry or tell God he's cruel, you go right ahead, but you're not leavin', Rick. Carl needs you. Here," her voice drops to a whisper. "And I can't do this by myself. Not this one. I can't. I can't."

I rise from my seat, attempting to just kind of sneak my way from the room, but Lori pushes me back down firmly, shutting Rick and I both down with absolute finality. We wait. Patricia tethers Rick to Carl once more. No one is leaving this room. Lori stations herself on the bed beside Carl, holding his hand and staring at her boy as though her will alone can keep him alive. Honestly, it might. She's fiercer than I knew. Her priorities are a little skewed sometimes and she's no saint, but she loves her son.

Eventually, Rick and I are both so damn out of it we're swapping old high school stories, eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and laughing hysterically despite the grave circumstances.

"And then the bell rings," Rick says, finishing up a story about how Shane had stolen their principal's car and parked it in a henhouse. "Shane gets up and when he runs into Kingsley in the hallway he looks out the window and says,  _ 'Principal Kingsley… your coupe's gone. _ " 

"Oh, my god," I sputter, wheezing with laughter and wiping tears from my eyes.

"Coupe like chicken coop?" Rick elaborates, the two of us sobering as Lori eyes us, understandably not amused.

"I get it," she says softly.

"Of course you do," Rick murmurs. "You've heard this story a thousand times."

"Gets less funny each time you hear it, I'd imagine," I observe.

"What you said before, you're right," Rick says to his wife. "Shane's gonna make it back with what the doctor needs. He'll make it back."

"Hershel said you need to eat," Lori responds, nodding at the half eaten sandwiches. "Both of you."

"Carl's gonna be alright," Rick continues, almost like he's trying to convince himself as much as Lori.

"Please, for me. You gotta keep your strength up."

Rick nods his assent, Lori's eyes shifting back to Carl's face. He and I chew in grim silence, the mood darkening as we do our part and hope like hell Shane pulls through on his end.

*Daryl's POV*

Glenn and T-Dog left for wherever the hell the girl on the horse came from, leaving Dale, Andrea, Carol and me to wait through the night in case Sophia wanders out of the woods. I'm cooped up with the women in the RV. We should be resting. I can't sleep. Even if I could quiet my brain, Carol's sobbing combined with Andrea's incessant fiddling with my clip, loading and unloading and reloading again... it ain't exactly a lullaby. Dale's keeping watch up top, but I get the feeling he don't sleep much anyway.

Fuck it. I get to my feet, shouldering my crossbow. I need to be moving, I'm antsy as hell cooped up with these women who won't go the hell to sleep. Not that I can blame Carol, not really. I just wanna bring her little girl back. Safe. Earn my place, maybe make up for being such a dick all the damn time. Prove I ain’t all bad.

"Gonna need my clip now," I inform Andrea, who hands it to me without a fuss. "I'm gonna walk the road. Look for the girl."

Carol's cries halt abruptly and she eyes me from the back of the RV. I nod at her, knowing she needs the assurance that at least somebody around here's doing something useful. I make my way from the RV onto the road, thankful that Andrea ain't following me. I ain't used to spending this much time around people, besides Merle and his janky ass small time dealers, and the blonde in particular bugs the hell outta me. There's just something about her, I dunno.

"I'm coming, too."

Fuck. Guess I jinxed that shit. Andrea bounds out of the RV, flashlight in hand.

"I'm gonna go for a walk," I announce, glancing up at Dale as he peers down from the roof. "Shine some light in the forest. If she's out there, give her somethin' to look at."

"You think that's a good idea right now?" He questions.

"Dale," Andrea scoffs, rolling her eyes and pointedly walking past me. 

She's a charmer, ain't she? I offer Dale a sympathetic shrug and follow her.

*Adrienne's POV*

The front door creaks and I hear familiar voices. T-Dog and Glenn! I try to stand but my body has other ideas, my legs refusing to support my weight. I land on the floor with a thud just as my friends appear in the doorway.

"Adie!" Glenn rushes in to help my dumb ass up off the floor and back into the chair I'd just vacated.

"Oh, hey," I greet him, a really unfortunate case of the giggles bubbling up from my belly and out my mouth.

"Are you… okay?" He questions, looking at my now stark white, clammy skin with concern.

"Yeah, fine. I am  _ dandy  _ as _ hell, _ " I assure him. "Gave 'im a little blood's all, I'm fine."

"Hey," Glenn murmurs, turning his attention to Rick and Lori. "Um, we're here, okay?"

"Whatever you need," T adds, standing beside Maggie in the doorway.

He looks like shit. Glenn and T-Dog leave the room, Maggie behind them. Hershel moves the sheet from Carl, taking a look at his belly. It's swollen, discolored. Bruised from the inside out.

"They don't get back soon, we're gonna have a decision to make," Hershel tells the Grimes parents.

"And that is?" Rick asks nervously.

"Whether to operate on your boy without the respirator."

"You said that wouldn't work," Lori points out.

"I know," Hershel says heavily. "It's extremely unlikely. But we can't wait much longer."

This is too much for Lori. She rises from her seat, fleeing the room. I glance at Rick, the two of us slowly getting to our feet and stumbling our way from the room behind her.

*Daryl's POV*

"You really think we're gonna find Sophia?"

Andrea's evidently incapable of remaining quiet for more than six minutes at a time. I’ve been counting.

"You got that look on your face, same as everybody else," I scoff, shining my light on her. "The hell's wrong with you people? We just started lookin'."

"Well,  _ do _ you _? _ " She presses.

"It ain't the mountains of Tibet," I point out. "It's  _ Georgia. _ She could be holed up in a farmhouse somewhere. People get lost 'n they survive, happens all the time."

"She's only  _ twelve. _ "

"Hell, I's younger 'n her and I got lost," I tell her. "Nine days in the woods eatin' berries, wipin' my ass with poison oak."

"They found you?"

"My ol' man was off on a bender with some waitress," I admit, not sure why I'm bothering except maybe it’s nice someone’s listening. "Merle was doin' another stint in  _ juvie. _ Didn't even know I was gone. I made my way back though. Went straight into the kitchen and made myself a sandwich. No worse for wear," I finish, peering around the woods. "Except my ass itched sum'n awful," I amend, at which point Andrea snorts with laughter.

"I'm sorry," she giggles. "I'm sorry, that is a terrible story."

Shit, she's right to laugh though. I can't help it either, and the two of us chuckle at my unfortunate asshole situation long past. Andrea can be bitchy, but maybe she ain't all bad. Maybe all these people are alright if you give 'em a chance.

"Only difference is Sophia's got people lookin' for her," I point out. "I call that an advantage."

*Adrienne's POV*

"You got here right in time," Patricia announces, stitching T-Dog's wound.

She, T-Dog, Maggie, Glenn, and I are stationed in the kitchen. T's cut has gone from bad to worse. His veins are seriously discolored and he's been battling one hell of a fever. I feel awful, even though Patricia says I did well enough with what we had. Glenn's practically force feeding me another peanut butter sandwich while she stitches up our friend.

"This couldn't go untreated much longer," she continues, poor T-Dog whimpering as her needle pierces his infected flesh. "Merle Dixon," she reads off the bottle of antibiotics Glenn had shown up carrying. "Is that your friend with the antibiotics?"

"No, ma'am," Glenn murmurs, shoving a piece of sandwich into my mouth. "Merle's no longer with us."

"Merle's a douche," I blurt, the words muffled by the bread and peanut butter stuck to the roof of my mouth.

"Daryl gave us those," Glenn informs her, placing a glass of juice in my hand. "His brother."

"Not sure I'd call him a friend," T grunts.

"He is today," Patricia tells him. "This Doxycycline might've just saved your life. You know what Merle was takin' it for?"

"The clap," Glenn announces, and I choke, orange juice burning in my nasal passages and filling my lungs.

"Damn it, Glenn," I sputter, coughing into my elbow.

"Um," he stammers, thumping a fist on my back while I struggle. "Venereal disease. That's what Daryl said."

"I'd say Merle Dixon's clap was the best thing to ever happen to you," Patricia mutters.

"I'm really tryin' not to think about that," T-Dog grimaces, gritting his teeth.

"You can't stop it?!"

Lori's sudden cry echoes through the house and I squeeze T-Dog's free hand, getting to my feet and stumbling as quickly as my body will let me into the bedroom, reaching the room just as Carl's body stops convulsing, going limp, his chest heaving.

"His brain isn't getting enough blood," Hershel says, examining the boy. "His pressure's bottoming, he needs another transfusion."

"Okay, I'm ready," Rick says calmly.

"If I take any more outta you, your body could shut down, you could go into a coma. Or cardiac arrest."

"Take it from me," I volunteer from the doorway, Rick whirling around, startled at my presence. "C'mon doc, I've eaten more than he has. I'm in better condition."

"Barely!" Rick protests. "You're wastin' time."

"Let her do it, Rick!" Lori snaps.

I sling myself into the chair by the bed, Hershel setting up another transfusion while the parents of the dying boy watch desperately, pleading for some kind of miracle.


	17. Fresh as a Daisy

**Chapter 17**

*Daryl's POV*

We've been walking a while when we hear some kind of rustling from the trees to the right. We follow the sound, stumbling across what appears to be a long abandoned campsite.

"What the hell?" I demand, the beam of my flashlight hitting something moving in one of the trees.

A walker, hanging from a branch, noose around it's decayed neck, thrashing about in the leaves. There's a note tacked into the tree trunk below the swinging body.

"Got bit, fever hit, world gone to shit, might as well quit," I read off, Andrea staring in horror behind me. "Dumbass didn't know enough to shoot himself in the head. Turned himself into a big swingin' piece of bait," I observe. "And a mess."

Andrea doubles over, groaning. Wuss.

"You alright?" I question.

"Trying not to puke."

"Go ahead if you gotta."

"No, I'm fine," she insists. "Let's just talk about something else for a moment. How'd you learn to shoot?"

"Gotta eat. That's one thing these walkers 'n us have in common. Guessin' it's the closest he's been to food since he turned," I muse, the walker reaching for us, snarls becoming frenzied and desperate. "Look at 'im. Hangin' up there like a big pinata. The other geeks came and ate all the flesh off his legs."

That's the last straw for Andrea. She vomits, gagging and retching into her hand. Girl needs a stronger stomach. Adrienne would have appreciated the pinata thing, I think. Damn it, I don't wanna be thinking about her. I don't give a shit what she likes and I don't need her fucking approval, neither. I push the infuriating thoughts of the redhead out of my mind, refocusing on the walker above me.

"I thought we were changing the subject," Andrea whines.

"Call that payback,” I retort. “For laughin' about my itchy ass."

"There wasn't a lot that came up," she observes, wiping the remaining puke from her hand.

"Huh," I turn away from the walker pinata, ready to go. "Let's head back."

"Aren't you gonna…" she trails off, gesturing at the asshole in the tree.

"No," I scoff. "He ain't hurtin' nobody. Ain't gonna waste an arrow, either. He made his choice. Opted out. Let 'im hang."

I turn once more, heading back, assuming she'll be right behind me. But she's stubborn, approaching the walker with some kind of weird fascination.

"You wanna live now or not?" I blurt, and she whips around, stricken. "It's just a question."

"An answer for an arrow," she bargains. "Fair?"

I nod.

"I don't know if I wanna live,” she says softly. “Or if I have to or… if it's just a habit."

"That's not much of an answer."

More like a total bullshit answer, but I don't wanna have this argument. I shoot the dumb bastard in the tree. 

"Waste of an arrow," I mutter.

Now that she's satisfied, she finally gets her shit together and we start the walk back to the RV in silence.

*Adrienne's POV*

"He's still losing blood faster than we can replace it," Hershel announces, checking Carl's blood pressure. "And with the swelling in his abdomen, we can't wait any longer or he's just going to slip away."

"I can… I can-" I start weakly.

"You  _ can't, _ " Hershel says firmly, no room for debate. "Now I need to know right now if you want me to do this," he continues, turning to Lori and Rick. "Because I think your boy is out of time. You have to make a choice."

"A choice?" Lori questions indignantly.

"A choice," Rick says softly. "You have to tell me what it is," he whispers, pleading eyes on his wife. "You have to tell me what it is."

"We do it," Lori decides, glancing at her dying son.

Rick and Lori hold each other tightly while Hershel and Patricia prep the room for surgery, wheeling a large metal surgical table right up next to the bed. Hershel starts shouting orders, he, Patricia, Rick, and Lori carefully lifting Carl from the bed and onto the operating table.

"Adrienne," the doctor says, scalpel poised. "Rick, Lori, you may wanna step out."

I get unsteadily to my feet just as, like some kind of fucking miracle, we hear the roar of an engine approaching. Shane, literally at the last possible moment, here to save the day. I silently thank anyone who may be listening, allowing Glenn to support my weight as everyone with the exception of Patricia steps out onto the porch. Shane looks like shit, panting heavily as he exits Otis's truck. Without Otis.

"Carl?" He questions.

"There's still a chance," Rick assures him as Hershel snatches the bag full of medical supplies from his hands.

"Otis?" Hershel asks.

"No," Shane breathes, shaking his head, avoiding eye contact with the doctor and everyone else.

"We say nothing to Patricia," Hershel says earnestly, tears in his eyes. "Not til after. I need her."

With that he's rushing back inside, ready to save Carl's life, at least try to, despite just having lost one of his own. Shane doesn't look right. He won't look at anyone and something about him is just this side of off as he and Rick embrace.

"They kept blocking us at every turn," he whispers. "We had nothin' left, we were down to ten rounds. Then he said… he said he'd cover me and that I, I should keep goin'."

He continues an elaborate, yet still vague, story that just feels... rehearsed. I can't listen to any more of it. I shamble inside, holding onto Glenn for dear life, where I'm promptly relegated to a sofa and ordered not to move from that spot. My restless mind yields to the needs of my body and I fall into a deep sleep almost as soon as I hit the cushions.

-

"Adie?" A voice says, a warm body plunking down beside me, pulling me into strong arms.

"Daryl?" I murmur, dreams melding seamlessly with reality for one blissful moment.

"Oh, hell, no," T-Dog scoffs, half annoyed, half amused. "Now I know you did not just call me Daryl."

Oh,  _ shit. _ I'm jolted abruptly back into actuality, eyes flying open to find a grinning Theodore Douglas sitting beside me.

"Carl?" I ask, alarmed that I'd fallen asleep before the surgery was complete. "Is he-"

"He's okay," he assures me, draping a blanket over my shoulders. "Hershel just told us, Lori's with him now. He's okay."

I nod, tears streaming from my eyes as gratitude floods my body. Carl's become like a little brother to me, if he hadn't made it…

"Shh," T soothes, holding me. "Go back to sleep, you need it. You ain't lookin' too good."

"Are you the pot or the kettle?" I chuckle, wiping my eyes.

"I guess, uh," he pretends to think about it, rubbing his chin. "I guess that'd be the pot, then."

"Mhmm," I hum, settling in against his chest.

"You gonna tell me when the hell you 'n  _ Dixon _ started mackin' on each other?" He demands, and I can hear the smirk in his voice.

"What?" I gasp, appalled. "No, it's… it's not like that."

"Mhmm, sure it ain't," he counters, slipping his index finger under the torn sleeve of the shirt I've been wearing since the previous evening. "The man gives you a  _ raggedy ass _ old shirt... and he's got you talkin' in your sleep."

"Shut up."

"He ain't bad, Adie."

"Doesn't matter," I mutter. "I don't have time for this shit. We're surrounded by  _ dead _ people, for christ’s sake. Doesn't exactly set the mood," I sigh, folding my arms across my chest. "Even if I thought he liked me," I add. "Which I  _ don't. _ "

"Uh-huh," he says simply, disbelief lacing his voice. "Sure. Whatever you say."

We fall silent, eventually giving in to sleep, of which we are both in sore need, and the next thing I'm aware of is the sound of the engines roaring up the drive. I sit up straight, eyelids still heavy as my eyes struggle to adjust to the early morning light streaming into the room.

"Boyfriend's outside," T-Dog announces, breezing past me to inform Rick of the rest of our group's arrival.

"He's not-" I begin to protest weakly, but there's no point. He's not listening.

I haul myself to my feet, unsteadily making my way onto the porch with T-Dog and Rick just as Daryl dismounts his bike, the RV, the Cherokee, and the green apple Hyundai Shane fixed up on the highway pulling in behind him. His eyes snap to mine almost immediately, squinting quizzically, taking in my probably not so stellar appearance.

"How is he?" Dale asks.

"He'll pull through," Lori says happily. "Thanks to Hershel and his people."

"And Shane. And Adrienne," Rick adds, nodding. "We'd have lost Carl if not for them."

Several of the group move in to hug each other, and I realize Sophia's still not with them. Damn it. Suddenly feeling quite woozy, I sink to the porch steps and place my head between my knees.

"How'd it happen?" Dale questions.

"Hunting accident," Rick explains. "That's all, just a stupid accident."

At that, we all move to the large cairn marking Otis's body-less grave to pay our respects. I'm barely on my feet, Glenn supporting most of my weight once again, and I have the ridiculous thought I should tip him for his services. Daryl stands at my other side, eyeing me warily every once in a while, as if I'm going to topple over at the slightest gust. Hell, I might.

"Blessed be God, Father of our Lord Jesus Christ," Hershel begins, each of the family taking turns placing rocks upon the grave. "Praise be unto Him for the gift of our brother, Otis. For his span of years, for his abundance of character. Otis, who gave his life to save a child's, now more than ever, our most precious asset. We thank you, God, for the peace he enjoys in your embrace. He died as he lived, in grace," he finishes his eulogy, turning to Shane. "Shane, will you speak for Otis?"

"I'm not good at it," Shane says evasively. "I'm sorry."

"You were the last one with him," Patricia, Otis's wife, says tearfully. "You shared his final moments. Please. I need to hear. I need to know his death had meaning."

"Okay," Shane concedes reluctantly, and I feel a shiver run down my spine, trembling involuntarily. "We were about done. Almost outta ammo. We were down to pistols by then. I was limpin', it was bad. Ankle all swollen up.  _ ‘We gotta save the boy.’ _ See, that's what he said. He gave me his backpack, he shoved me ahead.  _ ‘Run’, _ he said. He said  _ ‘I'll take the rear, I'll cover you.’ _ And when I looked back…" he trails off, limping towards the grave. "If not for Otis, I'd never have made it out alive," he announces, grabbing a stone. "And that goes for Carl, too. It was  _ Otis. _ He saved us both. If any death ever had meaning, it was his."

He finishes his speech and our group steps away, allowing the family to say their goodbyes in peace. I think Shane left the man to die. Maybe even put a bullet in him. It doesn't add up, his story. He came back with a dead man's gun.

"You look like shit."

"Good to see you too, Daryl."

"You alright?" He asks softly, falling into step beside me.

"I'm fine," I shrug. "Carl needed a lot of blood. I'm a match."

"How much you give?"

"A few transfusions worth, whatever that amounts to," I sigh heavily, still feeling beat to pieces. "Three units?"

"You need to eat," he grunts, producing two granola bars from his pocket and pressing them into my hand. "Ain't much, but it's somethin'," he shrugs, abruptly turning and loping away from me.

*Daryl's POV*

Adrienne looks like a goddamn ghost. I gave her them granola bars I scrounged from one of the cars back on the highway, but it ain't enough. I don't know why she makes me nervous, but she does, so after I gave her the bars, I just walked away like a pussy. She probably thinks I'm an asshole. Good. I  _ am _ an asshole. I glance back at her, watching as she tears open a granola bar with her teeth. She's still wearing my shirt, swimming in it really. Skinny thing. Before I can stop myself, I notice  _ again _ how pretty she is, even all messed up, sheet white and mangy, the bruising around her eye just now starting to fade. I shake my head, reaching the group gathering around the Cherokee.

"How long's this girl been lost?" Hershel questions.

"This'll be day three," Rick says as Hershel's daughter, Maggie, strides towards us.

"County survey map," she announces, spreading the map across the hood of Carol's car. "Shows terrain and elevations."

"This is perfect, we can finally get this thing organized," Rick says as Adrienne sidles up next to Hershel, leaning over the map, still chewing. "Not you, Adie," Rick says sternly, turning towards the redhead. "You need to rest, get your strength back."

"Please," she fires back as best she can around a mouthful of granola and wax pretending to be chocolate, shooting Rick a withering look. "Look at me, fresh as a daisy."

Yeah, a daisy with granola crumbs spilling down her shirt. Jesus  _ fuck, _ I wish that wasn't so goddamn cute. I ain't never thought nothin' was fucking  _ cute, _ and here this girl is like… I don't even know.

"I mean it, Adrienne, you gave too much blood," Rick argues. "You're not doin' this."

"So did you, asshole," she points out, earning herself a glare from the doctor beside her. "Sorry," she adds, shame clouding her features. "But I  _ am _ goin', Rick."

"We'll grid the whole area," he relents with a sigh. "Start searching in teams."

"Not you," Hershel cuts in. " _ Or _ you," he adds, eyes flickering to Adrienne. "Not today. You gave five units of blood between the two of you. You wouldn't be hiking five minutes in this heat before passin' out," he points out, silencing Adrienne's protests before they can even start with a raised hand. "And your ankle," he continues, gaze settling on Shane. "Push it now, you'll be laid up a month, no good to anybody."

"Guess it's just me," I sigh, looking at the map. "I'm gonna head back to the creek, work my way from there."

"I can still be useful," Shane insists. "Drive up to the interstate, see if Sophia wandered back."

"All right, tomorrow then," Rick says, resigned. "We'll start doin' this right."

"That means we can't have our people out there with just knives," Shane points out. "They need the gun training we've been promisin'."

"I can help with that," Adrienne nods.

"I'd prefer you not carrying guns on my property," Hershel announces. "We've managed so far without turning this into an armed camp."

"All due respect, you get a crowd of those things wandering in here-" Shane starts.

"Look, we're guests here," Rick interrupts. "This is your property, and we will respect that," he finishes firmly, laying his Colt Python down on the hood of the car.

Adrienne lays her pistol down, eyeing Rick wearily but respecting his authority. She don't need a gun, anyway. She's still got a hatchet and a buck knife dangling from her belt, she'll be fine. Not that I give a shit. After several moment's hesitation, Shane follows suit.

"First thing's first," Rick instructs. "Set camp, find Sophia."

"I hate to be the one to ask, but somebody's got to," Shane hedges. "What happens if we find her and she's bit?"

"Shane!" Adrienne says sharply, stricken.

"I just think we should all be clear on how we handle that," Shane presses, placing a hand over Adrienne's in what's meant to be a comforting gesture.

She snatches her hand away, glaring at him like she'd like nothing more than to tear his hand from his body and feed it to him. I can't help feeling a little smug. The man bugs the hell outta me and it's nice to know at least one other person sees through his bullshit. Wonder if she knows about him and Lori.

"You do what has to be done," Rick says solemnly, dipping his head.

"And her mother?" Maggie questions. "What do you tell her?"

"The truth," Andrea says flatly.

"I'll gather and secure all the weapons," Shane announces. "Make sure no one's carryin' til we're at a practice range off site. I do...  _ request _ one rifleman on lookout. Dale's got experience."

"Our people would feel safer, less inclined to carry a gun," Rick agrees, turning to Hershel, who nods his assent. "Thank you."

With that, I'm done wasting Sophia's time. I head to gather supplies, but before I can make it too far, Adrienne's blocking my path.

"Be careful," she says, shifting from one foot to the other.

The hell’s this girl want from me? Be careful… whatever. I don't have time to work out whether she sincerely cares if I'm careful or not. I nod to her, and maybe I imagine it but she smiles at me. Weird. I continue on my way. No way in hell I didn't imagine that smile. Merle always said we're expendable, and him being gone don't change that.

*Adrienne's POV*

Maybe I can't look for Sophia, not today, but I can at least help set up camp. I'm not just gonna sit on my ass and be fucking useless. Glenn knows better than to argue with me by now and only protests a little when I join him, graciously allowing me to snap together tent poles and hand them to him. He'll do the heavy lifting, sliding the poles through the nylon loops. He's struggling on his own, the tent taking twice as long to finish as it would if he'd just let me help.

"Wow," I breathe, eyes widening in mock wonder, admiring the tent he's managed to put up without my help. "I wish I could erect a tent this majestic."

"God, Adie," he scoffs, chuckling despite himself. "Why'd you have to say it like that?"

"Why not?" I question, nodding a quick hello to Maggie as she approaches.

"I hear you're fast on your feet and know how to get in and out," she says, eyeing Glenn.

Poor Glenn looks so confused, I can't help the cackle that escapes my lips.

"Got a pharmacy run," Maggie clarifies. "You in?"

"Uh…" he hems and haws for a moment, seemingly having forgotten the word  _ 'yes' _ and all its synonyms.

"Miss," Dale interrupts, saving Glenn for the moment. "What's the water situation here?"

"Got five wells on our land," she informs him. "House draws directly from number one. Number two well's right over there. We use it for the cattle, but it's just as pure. Take what you need. There's a cart and containers in the generator shed behind the house."

"That's very kind, thank you," I nod, offering her a grin.

She dips her head in acknowledgement, then turns her attention back to Glenn.

"I'll go saddle your horse, then," she announces, leaving him dumbstruck in her wake.

"Horse?" He blinks, befuddled.

"You know, them there thangs we southern foke be ridin' 'round on sometimes," I drawl, exaggerating my accent and batting my lashes. "Course, that's only when our tractors is in the shop and uncle Tex don't be wantin' to give y'all a ride, now."

"Why are you like this?" Glenn demands bitterly, T-Dog and Dale chortling with laughter.

"Why, I do de-clay-uh," I continue. "I ain't nev-uh heard of a young man so rude. I just do  _ not _ understand you city foke. Why, I rememb-uh when I was just a girl, was a time you could…"

*Daryl's POV*

I've gathered my shit and am on my way towards the forest when,  _ once again, _ I'm stopped.

"Daryl!" Rick calls, rising from the porch steps and striding towards me. "You okay on your own?"

"I'm better on my own," I tell him. "Don't worry,” I add sarcastically. “I'll be back before dark."

"Hey."

He's following me. Jesus, are these people really that helpless?

"We got a base. We can get this search properly organized now."

"You got a point?" I demand. "Or we just chattin'?"

"My point… it let's you off the hook."

What damn hook? I'm getting fed up with this man, he's wasting time. 

"You don't owe us anything."

So this is about Merle, then.

"My other plans fell through," I sneer, walking away.

*Adrienne's POV*

After harassing Glenn, T, Dale, and me made our way to the generator shed, gathered a cart, a ladle, several containers, and wheeled them all over to the well.

"I'm not weak," T-Dog announces. "And I'm not a coward."

He's still feeling guilty for his rant on the highway. He'd told me about it last night sometime between transfusions and stitches and peanut butter sandwiches. He felt like we'd left him and Dale for dead. That we'd decided they were the weakest links, Dale being older and T-Dog being injured and the only black man. He wanted to take the RV and just go. He was tearing himself apart for it last night. I told him it was the fever talking. The anxiety that comes from being alive right now, from living with a perpetual target on our backs. Still, he swore me to secrecy.

"I never said you were," Dale says. "Adie, did you tell T-Dog he's a weak coward?"

"No, sir, I surely didn't," I chirp, placing a bucket beneath the spigot while he pours water down into the pump, priming it for use.

"No, what I said on the highway," T insists. "I don't know what that was. Where it came from. That wasn't me," he grunts, grabbing hold and pumping the lever up and down. "If it's okay, I'd rather you never told anybody about that stuff I said."

"What stuff?" Dale demands, the picture of indignant confusion. "I couldn't get a word outta you all day."

T-Dog grins, chuckling breathlessly. I love that grin. He's got one of those smiles that just brightens his whole face. None of us smile too much anymore, but when it happens, when there's a reason to… I swear, it's like magic.

"Say, y'all…" T trails off, glancing warily around before continuing. "You think there's a snowball's chance we'll actually find that little girl?"

"I hope so," I murmur.

The truth is, I think she's gone. I think we're looking for a body. I hope we find something. We can't move on until we know.

"For the first time in my life, I'm bettin' on the snowball," Dale says, moving to peer down into the well.

"Yeah," T nods. "Me too. Do whatever we have to. I don't care if I have to comb the woods like Rambo or fetch a pail of water," he gestures to said pail, now mostly full. "Everybody kicks in, does their part. Am I right?"

"You're thirsty," I point out, offering him the ladle we'd brought along. "And yes, you're right."

"Do your part," T continues, taking the utensil and dunking it into the water. "Don't complain. That's what I always-"

He's cut short, abruptly, when Dale smacks the ladle from his hand just before the water reaches his lips.

"I wouldn't drink that if I were you," he mutters, glaring meaningfully at the well.

I don't like the look on his face. I step towards the well and peer over the edge. There's a walker in the bottom of the well, bloated and snarling, tainting the water with god only knows what.


	18. A Buttload of Blood

**Chapter 18**

*Adrienne's POV*

"He's not goin' for it," Dale says,  _ 'it' _ being a canned ham on the end of a rope Shane had lowered into the well as bait.

To avoid contaminating the well water with walker guts, the idea is to pull it out alive and dispose of it on dry land.

"Maybe 'cause a canned ham don't kick and scream when you try to eat it," T hypothesizes.

"He's right," Lori agrees. "There's a reason the dead didn't come back to life and start raiding our cupboards."

"We need live bait," Andrea says, looking pointedly at Glenn.

"No. Hell, no," I protest, glaring. "Are you crazy?"

"I'll do it," Glenn says, resignation heavy in his voice as he sinks down onto the edge of the well.

"Glenn!" I argue. "Are  _ you _ crazy? Am I the only one here who thinks  _ maybe _ this is a bad idea?"

No one listens to me. All saying some shit about what needs to be done, it's perfectly safe, think about the greater good, Adie.

"Have I mentioned that I really like your new haircut?" Glenn questions nervously, Shane tying a rope around his waist. "You have a nice shaped head."

Yeah, his haircut. Wasn't just a trim, either. He'd buzzed all his hair off last night before using Hershel's shower. Seems he's really taking advantage of the amenities here. It doesn't sit right with me, not at all. There's no doubt in my mind, Otis's death wasn't an accident.

"He has an egg shaped head," I mutter angrily. "For his egg shaped brain."

"Your fella's brave," Maggie says to me, nodding at Glenn.

"He's not my fella, he's the dumbest genius I've ever met," I seethe. " _ If _ he comes up in one piece, I'm gonna beat his ass."

"Living piece!" He interjects. "The living part is important. Nice and slow please."

"We got you," Andrea assures him.

"Oh, you people  _ are _ crazy," Maggie says worriedly.

"You wanna get it outta your well or not?" Shane counters.

"Funny, I don't see you down there makin' it happen, Walsh," I say cooly, earning a scathing look from Shane.

"Give us an eye there, Maggie," Dale instructs.

Maggie stands looking down into the well as Glenn disappears inside it.

"You doin' okay?" Maggie asks.

"Yup!" Glenn's bright reply echoes from inside the well. “Doin’ great!”

Idiot! He's doing this shit to impress a girl? I roll my eyes and tighten my grip on the rope, vowing to make good on my promise to beat his ass when this is over with.

"Little lower," Maggie directs. "Little more." 

I can tell he's getting close to the bottom, the walker's snarls becoming louder and more frantic. Suddenly, the rusty spigot we'd looped the rope around for leverage gives, the rope becoming slack, causing Glenn to plummet unexpectedly. It's chaos. People tugging at the rope, Shane lunging for the spigot, Glenn's desperate cries for help surging forth from the well. But we get him out, his terrified face popping up from inside the well, horrified but in one,  _ living _ piece.

"Glenn," I breathe, dropping to my knees beside him, examining his body for bites, scratches, anything. "Glenn, are you okay, did it get you?"

He's not bit. He's not hurt at all. Thank  _ fuck. _ Losing Amy and Jim and then Jacqui at the CDC, and Sophia… I can't lose anyone else.

"Back to the drawing board," Dale states glumly.

"Says you," Glenn says, smug and breathless, getting to his feet and handing the rope off to the older man.

Son of a bitch. He did it. Even in the midst of all the screaming and the terror, he'd managed to get that rope around the walker. Unfortunately, though, the effort was fruitless. Soon as we manage to get the gross bastard up over the edge of the well, it gets stuck. We continue to pull, but the rotting, thrashing corpse splits in two with a sickening squelch. We end up with only the top half above ground, its bottom half landing back inside the well.

"We should seal off this well," Dale suggests, regarding the portion of the walker on the ground disgustedly.

"Yeah, might be a good idea," Shane agrees.

"So what do we do about the-"

Andrea stops short, interrupted by T-Dog bringing a pipe down repeatedly on the walker's head.

"Good thing we didn't do anything stupid like shoot it," he says sarcastically.

"I have to sit," I murmur weakly, the gore and the heat and the exertion catching up to me.

I make my way to the RV, taking a seat on one of the benches and promptly passing out. When I wake, Carol is… washing dishes?

"Hey," I croak, startling her as I sit up and stretch. "Everything okay?"

"Fine," she says shortly, drying the last of the plates and briskly walking to the back of the RV.

"Carol," I blurt, following her and sitting on the bed across from where she's now sewing. Keeping her hands busy. "I know nothin' I say can make it easier on you right now, but, um… but can I help you with anything?"

She eyes me, a small smile on her face, tears welling in her sapphire eyes.

"You can make the bed," she nods at the messy sheets I'm currently sitting on. "If you want."

"I can do that," I smile, hopping up and stripping the mattress.

I make the bed and do some other general tidying while Carol occupies herself with her sewing. When the place is as clean as it's getting, I select a book from Dale's collection and sit down in the back with the worrying mother.

"I lost my mom," I murmur. "Car accident. Before all this," my voice breaks and her eyes flicker to mine. "I know talkin' isn't somethin' you wanna do right now, I do, but I just… I wanted you to know you're not alone."

I settle in with the book, sitting with Carol in companionable silence. Just another warm body in the room for her to draw comfort from. I'm so engrossed in the book -Misery by Stephen King, which I've already read but it’s one of the better books Dale owns- I don't notice Daryl's here until Carol speaks.

"We cleaned up," she blurts, breaking my concentration.

Daryl's eyes are on me. How the hell does he do that? Every time he looks at me, my skin turns to fire, my blood, what's left of it anyway, heating in my veins. I avert my gaze, dog-earring my page in the book and placing it on the bed beside me.

"I wanted it to be nice for her," Carol continues.

"For a second I thought I was in the wrong place," Daryl replies, eyes sweeping the RV.

He's chewing on a piece of straw nervously, which, for some inexplicable reason, is insanely attractive. After a moment, he produces a bottle with a white flower in it, placing it on a stand near the bed.

"A flower?" Carol questions.

"It's a Cherokee rose," he explains, pulling the straw from his teeth. "Story is when American soldiers were movin' Indians off their land on the Trail of Tears, the Cherokee mothers were grievin' and cryin' so much 'cause they were losin' their little ones along the way… from exposure 'n disease. Starvation. A lot of 'em just... disappeared. So the elders, they uh, said a prayer. Asked for a sign to uplift the mothers' spirits, give 'em strength. And hope."

He meets my eyes briefly, then turns his gaze back to Carol. I'm in awe right now. I've never seen Daryl Dixon quite so tender. If I'm honest, I didn't realize he had so much to say or that he cared to say much at all.

"The next day, this rose started to grow right where the mothers' tears fell,'' he continues. "I'm not fool enough to think there's any  _ flowers _ bloomin' for my brother,” he scoffs, shaking his head. “But I believe this one... bloomed for your little girl."

Carol's tears are streaming down her face, a small laugh escaping her mouth as Daryl nods and turns away, heading out of the RV, apparently through talking.

"She's gonna really like it in here," he says, pausing to look back at Carol one more time.

She smiles at him and he nods, leaving without another word. I get to my feet, grabbing the book and squeezing Carol's hand as I make my way from the RV. I put the book back where I found it and, as I turn to follow in Daryl's footsteps, catch Carol watching me with a small smile.

"What?"

"Nothin'," she says, shaking her head, her smile widening. "Go after him."

I dip my head, embarrassed. It's not like that. But I do want to talk to him. I bound from the Winnebago, catching up with Daryl as he ascends the steps to the farmhouse.

"Daryl," I greet as he turns to face me, offering nothing. "I, uh… thanks. For back there."

"Wasn't for you," he points out harshly.

"I know," I tell him, gaze dropping to the ground. "But I still wanted to say thanks. That's a hell of a lot more than a flower to her."

He just grunts, shifting uncomfortably. I can't figure him out. I think he tolerates me, but sometimes it feels like he's itching to get as far from me as possible. I sigh, turning and heading down the steps.

"Found another farmhouse."

I turn back, cocking my head questioningly. He sighs and takes a seat on the porch. I move up the stairs and sit beside him, careful not to touch him. Or sit too close. Or breathe too loud. He's talking to me and I don't wanna ruin it.

"Out in the woods, that stretch of the creek we missed," he continues. "Someone was definitely there recently. Hidin' away in a cupboard, couldn't've been much bigger 'n Sophia."

"Was?"

"Gone now."

"That gives us a startin' point for tomorrow," I point out. "That's more than we had this mornin'."

He just grunts again. Damn it. Guess he's reached his allotted word count for the day.

"We, uh… we ripped a walker in half while you were out there," I announce, eliciting a surprised glance. "Found it in one of the wells."

I regale him with the story of our failed efforts to keep from contaminating the well water, my heart skipping a beat each time the corner of his mouth twitches up, just the hint of a smirk enough to spur on my dramatic retelling of Glenn's near death experience.

"Hell'd he go down there for in the first place?" He demands.

"I think he has a thing for Hershel's daughter," I laugh. "Maggie. He was bein' real showy about the whole thing, jackass."

He chuckles softly and my heart melts. I've never heard him laugh before. It's nice.

"I gotta go let Rick know about that farmhouse," he says, getting to his feet. "Gon' need to get back out there first light."

"All right," I nod. "G’night, Daryl."

He just grunts in response, heading inside to tell Rick about his lead. I'll take it. Soon as he's left and I'm making my way to mine and T-Dog's tent at the edge of the yard, my stupid schoolgirl giddiness begins to fade. Jesus. Why do I let myself feel this way? Still, a couple things are hopelessly, undeniably true.

One, I'm a witless imbecile.

Two, I have a crush on Daryl fucking Dixon.

*Daryl's POV*

She told me about her day. And I let her. I didn't just let her, I initiated the whole damn conversation. It was only a few minutes, but we sat on the porch talking about how them dipshits we roll with tried to feed Glenn to a walker, all so Glenn could impress a girl. And I  _ liked _ it. I like her company. I like  _ her. _ Which is a damn problem. I ain't figured out her motive, yet. Everyone's got one. An angle. But all she wanted was to tell me about her day? Thank me for a fuckin' flower that had nothin' to do with her? I lay awake, turning our conversation over and over in my head, sifting through her every word, searching for hidden meanings. There's gotta be one. She looks like one of them girls everyone knows in high school, the kind that would come up and talk to you on some dare or some shit. Play with your feelings just to laugh at you with her bitchy little friends later.

That's what I keep waiting for, I guess. The other shoe to drop. For her smile to sharpen, for her to laugh at me for thinking she might be even remotely interested. It don't matter, though, 'cause I ain't into her. I ain't. Besides, ain't she T-Dog's girl, anyway? I guess she ain't no more touchy feely with him than she is with Glenn, though. Not that I give a shit who she's touching. Whatever. I ain’t got time for this shit. I fall asleep this side of too fucking late, waking the next morning feeling like I may as well not have slept at all.

"Mornin', guys," Rick greets. "Let's get goin'. We got a lotta ground to cover."

We gather around the Cherokee, map spread out over the hood.

"All right, everyone's gettin' new search grids today,'' Rick announces. "If she made it as far as the farmhouse Daryl found, she might've gone further east than we've been so far."

"I'd like to help," Jimmy, Hershel's kid daughter, Beth's, boyfriend cuts in. "I know the area pretty well and stuff."

"Hershel's okay with this?" Rick questions warily.

"Yeah," Jimmy assures him, a little too quickly to be entirely believable. "Yeah, he said I should ask you."

"Horseshit," Adrienne mutters under her breath, materializing beside me.

She looks better. Well rested and a little more color in her face. She's wearing her customary flannel button down and Lori must've helped her do some fancy bullshit to her hair, tucking the sides back and looping it around to keep it from her face. It don't suit her. Hair like hers is meant to be wild, I think.

"Could use the help," I murmur, not about to argue against an extra set of eyes.

"Nothin' about what Daryl found screams Sophia to me," Shane says. "Anyone could've been holed up in that farmhouse."

"Anybody includes her, right?" Andrea counters.

"Whoever slept in that cupboard was no bigger 'n yay-high," I point out, lifting my hand about four and a half feet in the air.

"It's a good lead," Andrea nods.

"It's the  _ only _ lead," Adrienne adds, glaring at Shane.

"Maybe we'll pick up her trail again," Rick agrees.

"No maybe about it, I'm gonna borrow a horse," I announce, tapping a spot of high ground on the map. "Head up to this ridge right here, take a bird's eye view of the whole grid. If she's up there, I'll spot her."

"Good idea," T-Dog nods. "Maybe you'll see your chupacabra up there, too."

"Chupacabra?" Rick asks.

"What, you never heard this?" Dale questions. "First night in camp, Daryl tells us that the whole thing reminds him of the time when he went squirrel hunting and he saw a chupacabra."

"I forgot about that!" Adrienne crows, amusement making her eyes sparkle in that distracting way they sometimes do.

"Mhmm," T-Dog nods. "Oh, yeah, and then we spent the next hour listenin' to Glenn and Adie argue about the Loch Ness monster."

"I'm tellin' you, she's real," Adrienne insists. "And she's not a monster. Just an animal a buncha money grubbin' assholes've turned into a tourist attraction."

At this, Jimmy starts to cackle.

"What're you brayin' at, jackass?" I demand.

"So you believe in a blood sucking dog?" Rick questions dubiously.

"You believe in dead people walkin' around?" I fire back, silencing the kid as he reaches for a gun.

"Hey, hey," Rick says, stopping him. "Ever fire one before?"

"Well if I'm goin out, I want one," the kid replies defensively.

Shit, Adrienne's right. Horseshit.

"Yeah. And people in hell want slurpees," I mutter, shouldering my crossbow and heading to the stables.

*Adrienne's POV*

"Adie, I need you to stay here," Rick tells me as Daryl disappears into the stable.

"What? No way!" I protest.

"Way. You're one of our best shots, I need you to help Dale guard this place," he reasons. "And you're still healin'."

" _ You're _ still healin'!"

"I know, but you gave more blood than I did and I spent yesterday restin' like we were  _ supposed _ to. You didn't."

"You're jokin'."

"I'm not. And I'm not askin'."

With that he lopes off elsewhere, the big man in charge.  _ Bullshit. _ I kick the ground, annoyed. Unfortunately, he  _ is _ in charge, and that means I'm staying put. My thoughts are interrupted by Maggie, storming off the porch where Glenn is standing, looking utterly bereft. In his hand is the guitar Dale had found in one of the cars back on the highway and, just for a moment, I want to play. But playing makes me think of my mom and I can't. I can't do that. I can't think of her, not if I want to keep focused. I bound up the steps, eyeing Glenn.

"What'd you do, pinch her?" I tease as he stares at Maggie's back glumly.

"Shut up, Adie."

"You know," I start, leaning against the railing. "There are better ways to impress a girl than danglin' yourself in front of starvin' walkers."

"Okay, well she seemed impressed yesterday!" He snaps, cheeks flushing.

"What?"

"Uh. Nothing. She, we, I mean I…" he stammers. "I gotta go."

Oh, he's got it bad. I chuckle to myself, watching poor Glenn practically sprint away from me. I stroll down the steps, leisurely making my way to the Winnebago where Dale is.

"Rick's left me behind to help you out," I sigh, slumping against the RV.

"Stop dog-earring my books," he mutters, eyes on Andrea across the yard.

"You still worried about her?" I question gently.

"She seems to have taken a liking to Daryl," he shrugs, not taking his eyes off her for even a fraction of a second. "That last night on the highway, the two of them wandered into the woods to look for Sophia and didn't come back for a long while."

My heart sinks into my gut like a stone. Of course it would be Andrea. Older, prettier, more sophisticated, used to be a lawyer before the world went to hell Andrea.  _ Blondes. _ It's always the fucking blondes. Dale continues blathering, oblivious to my distress. I should have known. I leave him to his fretting, much more upset over this little development than I should be, and stalk to the back of the farmhouse, collapsing onto the porch steps, my head falling into my hands as the tears begin to flow. I don't know why I care so much. I knew from the beginning this would hurt. That having feelings for someone right now was a bad idea.

"Adie?"

Oh shit. I wipe my tears away, plastering a smile onto my face as I look up into Carol's worried eyes.

"What's up?" I croak, trying for nonchalance and failing miserably.

"He'll be back," she soothes, taking a seat beside me and patting my hand, letting out a small laugh at my confused expression. "You don't have to worry about Daryl. He can take care of himself."

Oh.

"That's not…" I begin shakily. "I'm not worried."

"Yes, you are," she murmurs. "I see the way you look at him."

"Carol-"

"He'll be back," she says over me, looking off into the trees.

"They all will," I say softly, not having the energy to correct her about Daryl.

"We're making dinner for Hershel's family tonight. Do you wanna help?" She questions gently.

"I'm a terrible cook," I say flatly, and she looks ashamed for asking. "But I can… cut somethin'?"

Her face brightens and she takes my hand, the two of us rising from the porch together and heading to finish up the laundry with Lori, the two homemakers chattering excitedly, planning a menu that sounds far beyond my capabilities.

"Oh, Adie," Lori says suddenly. "Carl was askin' for you."

"He was?" I blurt, surprised.

"He was," she chuckles. "He was wonderin' why you hadn't come to see him yet."

"Oh," I breathe, crestfallen. "I wasn't tryin' to avoid him, I just didn't… I wanted to give him space, you know?"

"I know, that's what I told him," she assures me. "We'll finish up here, you go."

She doesn't have to tell me twice. I race into the house and duck into the bedroom. He's awake, happily regaling Patricia with the story of the deer. She looks less than thrilled. In all fairness, her husband just died.

"It was so pretty," he sighs.

"I'm sure it was," Patricia tells him, a sad smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"How you feelin'?" I question, Carl's head swiveling toward the sound of my voice.

"Adie!"

"Hey," I chuckle, entering the room and sinking onto the chair at his bedside.

"Do you mind?" Patricia questions, raising an eyebrow and gesturing at the door.

"No, not at all," I assure her. "I'll stay with him."

"Thanks," she breathes, trying to flee the room without looking like she's fleeing the room, sniffling as she closes the door behind her.

"You're not looking for Sophia?" Carl asks.

"No, not this time," I sigh, settling into the cushion. "Your daddy seems to think I'm a big baby. Maybe if I was as tough as you, he'd let me tag along."

"Mom said you gave me a buttload of blood."

"Really?" I snort. "Your mom said  _ buttload? _ "

"Well, no," he admits, giggling. "But she said it was a lot."

"Well, what else was I gonna do with it, huh?" I laugh. "Bleed?"

"Thank you," he tells me earnestly, the look on his face eerily serious for such a young boy.

"You're welcome," I murmur. "You uh, you ever need more blood, you just holler. I'll tap a vein for you any time."

"I love you, Adie."

I'm so taken aback, I can't stop the tears welling in my eyes and falling down my cheeks. The last person to tell me that and mean it, really,  _ truly _ mean it, was my own mama. I've heard those words come out of the mouths of many a man, and they always sounded like currency. I've never heard them from a child. Carl's just a kid, he's got nothing to gain. If he says he loves me, he damn well means it. I'd bleed to death for him.

"I love you, too, Carl."

*Daryl's POV*

Motorcycles are so much easier than horses. Don't help any that I've apparently picked the most skittish one. Still, I'm making good time up the ridge when I spot something down in the creek below.

"Whoa."

Squinting, I try to make out whatever it is caught between two branches sticking out of the shallow water. It's no good though, I need to get closer. I dismount the horse and head down the steep embankment towards the water. On the banks of the creek, waterlogged and tattered, is Sophia's doll. She was here.

"Sophia!"

There's no reply. Not that I expected one, but it's still a blow to the sliver of hope I've been carrying around with me. I climb back up the embankment, mount the horse, and together we continue on our way. We ain't gone more than a couple yards when some birds screech, bursting forth from somewhere on the forest floor in a flurry of feathers, startling the horse out of her wits.

"Whoa, easy," I soothe, eyes searching the ground for whatever had threatened the fleeing birds. "Easy."

There's nothing here, nothing I can see yet, anyway, so we keep going. Then she whinnies frantically, panicked, rearing up and bucking me into the dirt. I catch a glimpse of a diamond back slithering away as I tumble down the steep ravine and into the water.

"Son of a bitch!"

I've landed in the creek on my own arrow, which has pierced clean through my back and out my side. Shit, that stings. I make my way to the shore, every movement agonizing. I need to slow the bleeding, gotta bind this shit. I pull my knife out and slice through the seams attaching my sleeves to the shoulders of my shirt, tearing the sleeves off and tying them together. I wrap the cloth as tight as I can around my body, just above the arrow protruding from my skin. I ain't sure I can risk taking it out just yet, it might be the only thing in the way of my bleeding out in this godforsaken creek. I get to my feet, scanning the cliffside for the easiest way back up to the ridge, freezing in my tracks when I hear it. Rustling from the trees on the other side of the creek. I reach for my crossbow only to discover it ain't there. Shit. I whirl around, quickly locating a long stick I can use to retrieve my crossbow from the murky water it had tumbled into.

The rustling's gone. Must've been some forest critter just passing through. I take the stick in my hands, poking around the water with it. It ain't long before the stick catches on something at the bottom of the creek and I reach down, relieved when my fingers close around my lost weapon. Knowing I ain't defenseless provides enough comfort, I all but forget the pain from the arrow lodged in my flesh. I pull it from the water, dripping but unbroken, and start my slow trek up the ravine. Every fucking step is torturous, the pain from the arrow in my side excruciating.

It's taking everything I got in me to keep going. I want to quit. Rest. But I need to get this doll back to Carol. Help track down that little girl. Forget about where Merle's at, 'cause he sure as fuck ain't out worrying about me, maybe earn my keep with the group, bring Sophia home alive. Ain't nobody was looking for me when I got lost, I'll be damned if I ain't gonna find her. It  _ means  _ something, finding her. Not just to Carol, neither. So I keep going, using the overgrowth like handholds, dragging my battered body slowly up the ravine. After what feels like hours, I'm only half there and I can feel my body giving in.

"Oh, come on," I mutter. "You've done half. Stop bein' such a pussy. Come on."

Breathing heavily, panting through the pain, I hurl myself forward. But there's nothing to grab hold of, nothing strong enough, and I slip, losing my footing and hurtling right back down to where I'd started. Fuck. I don't know how long I'm laying on the ground, I think I may have passed out, but the next thing I'm aware of are the footsteps.

"Why don't you pull that arrow out, dummy? You could bind your wound better."

Merle? Damn. He always did show up when I needed him the most. Well, maybe not always. But sometimes. He never showed up when I  _ didn't _ need him.

"Merle."

"What's goin' on here?" My brother questions. "You takin' a siesta or somethin'?"

"Havin' a shitty day, bro."

"Like me to get your pillow?" He smirks, chuckling sarcastically. "Maybe rub your feet?"

"Screw you."

"Uh uh. You're the one that's screwed from the looks of it," he says. "All them years I spent tryin' to make a man of you. This what I get? Look at you. Lyin' in the dirt like a used rubber... you gonna die out here, little brother. And for what?"

"A girl. They lost a little girl."

"So you got a thing for little girls now?"

"Shut up."

"'Cause I noticed you ain't out lookin' for ol' Merle no more."

Is this a dream?

"Tried like hell to find you, bro."

"Like hell you did. You split, man. Lit out first chance you got."

" _ You _ lit out. All you had to do was wait. We went back for you. Rick and I, we did right by you."

"This the same Rick that cuffed me to the rooftop in the first place? Forced me to cut off my own hand? This him we're talkin' 'bout here? You his bitch now?"

"I ain't nobody's bitch."

"You're a joke is what you are, playin' errand boy to a buncha pansy asses, niggers, 'n Democrats," he scoffs. "You're nothin' but a freak to them. Redneck trash. That's all you are. Yeah, they're laughin' at you 'hind your back. You know that, don't you? What, you think you gon' bring that little girl back? Yeah, and that sweet little ginger's gon' give you all kinds of lovin', right? I got a little news for you, son. One of these days, they gon' scrape you off their heels like you was dogshit."

I feel myself slipping, letting go. But he smacks me, I swear to god I feel it.

"Hey!" He barks. "They ain't your kin. Your blood. Hell, you had any damn nuts in that sack of yours, you'd go back there 'n shoot your pal Rick in the face for me. Now you listen to me. Ain't nobody ever gonna care about you except me, little brother. Ain't nobody ever will. Come on. Get up on your feet 'fore I have to kick your teeth in. Let's go."

He's pulling me. Clawing desperately at my legs, snarling…. wait, no. No, no, no, shit, it's a walker. I come to my senses, kicking the dead bastard off me and scrambling for my crossbow. It's strong, and we struggle, the noise drawing one of its geek friends from the trees. I manage to get on top of it, smashing its face in with a stick and yanking the arrow out of my body as the other one shambles towards me, loading the bolt and firing into its head just before it gets to me. I collapse, lying flat on my back, breaths coming in quick, sharp heaves. But I'm alive. And I'm going back. Hell's Merle know about it, anyway? I sit up, pulling my shirt off. I fold it into a pad and re-tie the sleeves around it, noticing that I can, indeed, bind my wound better now that the arrow's out.

"That son of a bitch was right."

I pull the squirrel I'd caught earlier from my belt and cut the sumbitch open, eating it raw. Ain't gonna make the trip back on an empty stomach. Then I cut the ears off them geeks and string 'em onto my boot lace, tying it off and tossing it around my neck. I ain't nobody's bitch. I'm gonna get my ass back up that damn cliff and it ain't for Rick or Merle or nobody. I'm gonna do it 'cause I fucking  _ can. _ I'm nearly three quarters of the way up before I gotta stop again. Just for a second. Gotta catch my breath. I glare up at the sky, watching the buzzards circling above the trees. Assholes.

"Please," Merle says, and I think I'm going crazy. "Don't feed the birds."

He ain't here, but I see him up at the top of that ridge, smirking and laughing at me like he always did. I start moving again. I'm doing this if it fucking kills me.

"Oh, what's the matter, Darylina?" He demands. "That all you got in you? Throw away that purse and climb."

"I liked it better when you was missin'," I snarl.

"C'mon, don't be like that," he chuckles. "I'm on your side."

"Yeah?" I pant, searching for another handhold. "Since when?"

"Hell, since the day you were born, baby brother," he announces. "Somebody had to look after your worthless ass."

I ain't worthless. I'm doing something that matters. I  _ ain't _ worthless.

"You never took care of me," I snap. "You talk a big game, but you was never there. Hell, you ain't here now. Guess some things never change."

"Well, I'll tell you what," he simpers, watching me struggle. "I'm as real as your  _ chupacabra. _ "

"I know what I saw."

"Yeah, and I'm sure them shrooms you ate had nothin' to do with it, right?"

"You best shut the hell up!" I snarl, pulling myself up the steep ravine inch by agonizing inch.

"Or what?" He demands. "You gon' come up here 'n shut my mouth for me? Well, come on 'n do it then, you think you're man enough," he cackles. "Hey! Kick of them damn high heels 'n climb, son."

He's still laughing, watching, waiting for me to fail. I ain't worthless. He ain't never took care of shit but himself. Kept me around 'cause I'm the only friend he ever had.

"You know what?" He questions idly. "If I were you, I'd take a pause for the cause, brother. 'Cause I just don't think you gon' make it to the top."

The hell I ain't. I'm clawing my way up, getting closer and closer. Every cell in my body is protesting, screaming at me. Tough shit. I'm in charge. We're getting up this goddamn cliff.

"Come on!" Merle coaxes. "Come on, little brother. Grab your friend Rick's hand."

I don't need nobody's hand. I'm at the top, I just gotta pull myself up to the flat ground. One more push. I can do it one more time, just one more push, one more, and I'm at the top, standing on flat, easy terrain. Merle's gone. I know he ain't never been here in the first place, but still I feel the need to chase away his shadow.

"Yeah, you better run!"


	19. She Ain't My Girl

**Chapter 19**

*Adrienne's POV*

"I've had damn near enough of this," I gripe, peeling a potato.

Somehow every single one I peel manages to shrink down to practically nothing.

"I'm not meant to be in a kitchen."

"You're doin' fine," Beth murmurs softly.

She's sad. I can't blame her. Being just sixteen years old, the world gone to hell, her mom and brother… they turned. She's so soft-spoken and timid. Jimmy's her boyfriend, and that kid never shuts the hell up. I suspect he's more of a habit than someone she planned on spending the rest of her life with, the two of them seem to have almost nothing in common.

"I appreciate the vote of confidence," I mutter. "I don't believe you for a second, but I appreciate it."

Lori overhears my bitching and sends me away, asking me to check on Dale like it's not a thinly veiled excuse to get me to quit demolishing root vegetables before I manage to simultaneously destroy dinner  _ and _ our reputations in a single fell swoop, bringing shame upon us all. Still, I don't hesitate, dropping the peeler into the sink and bounding from the house to check the perimeter. The second I make it to the porch, Andrea's hollering. I'm just in time, apparently.

"Walker!"

"Just the one?" Rick questions, running towards the thing shambling across the field towards the house.

I sprint towards Rick, squinting into the field. I'm not convinced that's a walker, but the figure is backlit by the sun sinking just above the treeline.

"I bet I can nail it from here!" Andrea says excitedly from atop the Winnebago.

"No! No, Andrea, put the gun down," Rick orders.

"You shoot that thing and you'll bring every walker out there right to this spot," I point out.

"You best let us handle this," Shane says, he and T heading towards the field, weapons in hand.

"Shane, hold up," Rick protests. "Hershel wants to deal with walkers."

"What for, man? We got it covered," Shane insists, continuing on his way.

"Damn it!" Rick curses, he and Glenn tearing after Shane and T-Dog.

"Andrea don't!" Dale warns as Andrea drops to her stomach, aiming at the walker.

"Back off, Dale!" Comes the petulant response.

"Andrea!" I bark. "You could hit one of ours!"

The walker is getting closer, and as the sun dips behind the trees I can see it's not a walker at all. Oh, no...

"Andrea, it's-"

But it's too late. She fires and Daryl drops.

*Daryl's POV*

I finally break through the treeline into Hershel's field just as the sun's setting. All I wanna do is sleep this shit off. I don't wanna explain shit to nobody, not yet. I just want these people to leave me the hell alone, but Shane, Rick, T-Dog, and Glenn are all standing there waiting for me like a big bunch of assholes. Rick's got his gun on me.  _ Again. _

"Is that Daryl?" Glenn questions.

Fucker needs his eyes checked. Who the fuck else would it be?

"That's the third time you've pointed that thing at my head," I snarl, eyeing Rick. "You gon' pull the trigger or what?"

Someone don't seem to get sarcasm, 'cause the next thing I know the sound of gunfire pierces the air, I got this sharp, burning pain in the side of my head, and everybody's yelling.

*Adrienne's POV*

"No!" I roar, tearing off into the field, my legs pumping as fast as I can possibly push them, reaching Daryl in seconds.

I fling myself to the ground beside him, Rick already kneeling in the dirt, crying out in happiness when I see he's just been grazed. He's breathing. He's beat to hell, but he's alive.

"I's  _ kidding! _ " He blurts in shock, falling unconscious as Rick and I lift him from the ground, pulling him to his feet.

"Oh, my god!" Andrea cries, running towards us with Dale. "Oh, my god, is he dead?"

"He would be if you shot worth shit," I spit venomously, wrapping Daryl's arm securely over my shoulders.

"Unconscious," Rick assures her. "You just grazed him."

"You were told to  _ wait! _ " I snarl, no sympathy for the imbecilic woman sobbing like a child who'd been burned after being told not to touch a hot stove.

"Look at him! What the hell happened?" Glenn questions frantically. "He's _wearing_ _ears!_ "

"Jesus Christ," I mutter, yanking the ears from around his neck and shoving them into my pocket before Hershel can see them.

Trophies, I assume. By the look of him, he'd had to fight a few off. He's filthy, covered in dirt and blood, his shirt sleeves tied around his torso like a tourniquet. Shit. What happened?

"Let's keep that to ourselves," Rick mutters, nodding at me.

"Guys," T says urgently, causing us to turn. "Isn't this Sophia's?"

It's her doll. T-Dog holds onto it while we drag Daryl's wounded body into a bedroom where Hershel can patch him up. He's conscious, explaining to us how he'd been thrown by the horse, went tumbling down a ravine and impaled himself on his own arrow.

"I found it washed up on the creek bed right there," he informs us when Rick asks about the doll, pointing to a spot on the map.

He's shirtless, the doctor tending to his wounds. My eyes inadvertently start to wander and I mentally kick myself for looking, turning my gaze to Rick instead. What the hell's wrong with me?

"She must've dropped it crossing there somewhere," Daryl adds.

"Cuts the grid almost in half," Rick says, eyeing Shane.

"Yeah, you're welcome," Daryl huffs.

"How's he lookin'?" Rick asks.

"I had no idea we'd be going through the antibiotics so quickly," Hershel replies. "Any idea what happened to my horse?"

"Yeah, the one that almost killed me?" Daryl questions. "If it's smart, it left the country."

"We call that one Nelly," Hershel announces. "As in nervous Nelly. I could've told you she'd throw you if you'd bothered to ask. It's a wonder you people have survived this long."

"Because  _ you've _ been so approachable?" I snap, stressed and more than a little tired of the doctor's attitude towards our group in general.

Daryl eyes me as though just registering that I'm in the room, and it's just now I notice the scars. Dark, raised slashes on his chest, his back... old. He yanks the covers up, catching me staring.

"Shouldn't you be doin' somethin' useful?" He spits.

" _ Useful? _ " I demand. "Helpin' drag your ass in here wasn't  _ useful? _ "

"I already warned you once about your language, Adrienne, I won't do it a third time," Hershel chastises me.

I glare at Daryl. He's not even looking at me anymore. I can't take the hot and cold limbo anymore. Fuck this. Fuck him. Mister I don't need anybody. It's bullshit. I scoff and storm out of the room, stepping onto the porch and interrupting a conversation between Andrea and Dale. I take in the blonde woman and my blood begins to boil.

"Don't be too hard on yourself,” Dale’s telling her. “We've  _ all _ wanted to shoot Daryl."

"Nice, Dale," I deadpan, the two of them whipping around at the sound of my voice. "Laugh it off."

"What's your problem?" Andrea demands.

"My problem? My problem is if your aim wasn't shit, Daryl would be dead right now!" I spit. "If you could hit a goddamn target to save your life, we'd be plannin' a  _ funeral! _ "

"Adrienne-" Dale starts, but I'm not finished.

"And you!" I shout, incensed. "Stop makin' excuses for her at every turn! She's a  _ grown up!  _ Don't confuse her for a little girl just because she  _ acts _ like one, Dale, she doesn't need you trailin' along after her, cleanin' up her mess 'n tellin' her it was never there in the first place!"

I breathe heavily, eyes flickering between the two shocked faces in front of me.

"You could've  _ killed  _ someone today tryin' to prove a point,'' I hiss, eyeing Andrea. "No amount of trainin's gonna help you if you don't understand pullin' that trigger's a  _ last _ resort!"

I turn on my heel and head back inside, leaving them both speechless for once. I step into the kitchen where Carol is busy finishing dinner, pretending she hadn't overheard a thing, but the look on her face tells me she heard every bit.

"Can I set the table for you?" I ask hoarsely, tears welling in my eyes.

Daryl did say I should be doing something useful.

*Daryl's POV*

I didn't know she helped move me. How the hell was I supposed to know, I passed out like a fucking pussy. Still, I feel like an asshole, watching her leave the room, and even though I don't want her here, I wish she'd come back soon as she's gone, stay with me. She's got scars, too. I know she didn't mean nothin' by looking. But still I pushed her away. I keep pushing her away and yet I find myself drawn closer and closer the more I try to resist. Maybe it's 'cause she's damaged. Maybe that's what she sees in me. Maybe she gets it. Maybe that's why she scares me and maybe she really is just trying to be my friend and I'm fucking it all up. I ain't good at this shit. I ain't had a friend besides Merle in at least a decade. My train of thought is interrupted when I hear the yelling. Adrienne. She's ripping Andrea a new asshole, and Dale, too, it sounds like.

I ain't never heard her yell like that. Not at anyone. Guilt wells in my guts, sour and bitter and nauseating. Maybe she wouldn't be so pissed if I hadn't been such an ass. She should be in here, yelling at me. I deserve it.

*Adrienne's POV*

Dinner is, in a word, tense. Hershel doesn’t want us here and my outburst hasn't exactly helped relations within our own group, everyone eating silently. Dale won't look at me. Andrea only looks to glare.

"Does anybody know how to play guitar?" Glenn asks grinning awkwardly, breaking the silence. "Dale found a cool one."

He waits, no one volunteering. And Jesus, my fingers are itching, my lungs filling with static. 

"Somebody's gotta know how to play," he tries again, chuckling.

Oh, fuck it. I get to my feet, crossing to where the guitar lay against the wall next to the smaller table Glenn's sitting at with Maggie, Beth, and Jimmy. I pick it up and cross back to my chair, pulling it away from the table and perching myself on the edge. I place the guitar over my knee, lightly running my fingers over the strings before strumming a couple chords. My heart beats hard against my ribcage. I haven't touched a guitar since before my mama died. I couldn't. I don't know if I even remember how but,  _ fuck, _ I need the release. So I play.

"I went out lookin' for the answers and never left my town. I'm no good at understanding but I'm good at standin' ground," I begin shakily, but soon find my stride, my heart rejoicing in the music like it always has when I sing, pouring every ounce of pain and grief I've been carrying in my soul into the music. "And when I asked the corner preacher, I couldn't hear him for my youth. Some people get religion, some people get the truth. I never get the truth, I never get the truth…"

I continue playing and I swear I can feel my mama with me, stronger than I've been able to feel her in a long time. I lose myself in it, never wanting to let this feeling go. I don't wanna let her go again.

"I am afraid of crossin' lines, I am afraid of flyin' blind, afraid of inquiring minds, afraid of bein' left behind…" I can feel the tears falling, feel my voice cracking as I pour out my aching soul, but I just don't care. "I close my eyes, I think of you. I take a step, I think of you. I catch my breath, I think of you. I cannot rest, I think of you. My one and only wrecking ball, and you're crashin' through my walls. And when you're outside lookin' in you belong to someone. But when you feel like givin' in, and the comin' of the end, like your heart could break in two... someone loves you, yeah."

I strum through the outro and the music fades, leaving near total silence in its wake. I come down from the rush just enough to be self conscious. It's too quiet. I hazard a glance around the room and the general look on each face is shock. Lori is crying, Rick's crystalline eyes welling with tears beside her.

"Dude…" Glenn breathes.

I shift uncomfortably on the chair, feeling my face flush crimson.

"I, um, I used to play a little," I mutter, just needing something to break the silence.

"Uh, yeah," Glenn says, a grin spreading across his face as he claps for me.

Several others join him and I wave them off awkwardly, flushing with that unique combination of pride and embarrassment like you get on your birthday, when everyone's singing to you and you don't know what the fuck to do with yourself.

"I dunno what I was expecting when you picked that thing up, Adie, but it sure as hell wasn't anything like that," Shane remarks, tipping his glass towards me as I take my seat back at the table.

"Thanks, I think?" I question, earning a few chuckles as everyone settles back in to eat.

"Otis played," Patricia says sadly.

"Yes," Hershel nods. "And he was very good, too."

"I'd've loved to hear it," I murmur.

Patricia's teary eyes flicker to mine and she nods, offering me a watery smile. After a few more minutes, and a lot more potatoes, Carol motions for me to join her in the kitchen. I follow her and she begins putting a fresh plate together.

"For Daryl," she explains. "Thought you might wanna take it to him."

"I don't think he'd appreciate that too much, Carol."

She stops, stricken, and I realize how that must have sounded to a woman used to her every move being criticized.

"From me, I mean," I clarify. "You're an incredible cook, everything is delicious and I'm sure he's starvin'. I just meant I don't think he wants to see me."

My voice cracks pathetically on the last word.

"You should take it to him, you're the chef," I add breezily, trying to hide my distress.

"Well, okay," she relents softly and I know I'm not hiding a damn thing from this woman. "If you're sure."

"I'm sure."

*Daryl's POV*

Someone’s singing. A girl. Must be Maggie or her sister maybe, but she looks too small for this voice. I've never heard anyone in our group sing before. Sure as hell not like that. I always thought that quote about music being what feelings sound like was the dumbest, pussy bullshit I ever heard, but whoever it is singing is making me think of the quote in a different way. She's singing like she means every word, her voice raw and vulnerable. The music ends too soon, silence and then muffled chatter in its wake. Not long after that, the door opens. Carol. I pull my sheets up, still feeling exposed.

"How you feelin'?" She asks gently.

"As good as I look," I grunt.

"I brought you some dinner," she says, placing a tray on the nightstand next to the bed. "You must be starving."

I turn to eye the tray. I  _ am _ starving, but it feels weird to have dinner brought to me. I didn't do nothin' to earn it. Carol leans over and I flinch, certain for a second she's gonna hit me. She don't, she just presses a kiss to the top of my head.

"Watch out, I got stitches," I snap, recoiling.

"You need to know something," she announces. "You did more for my little girl today than her own daddy ever did in his whole life."

"I didn't do anything Rick or Shane wouldn't have done," I mumble.

"I know," she says simply. "You're every bit as good as them. Every bit."

She turns to leave, but...

"Carol?" I blurt.

I can't get that voice outta my head.

"Yeah?"

"Who was singin' jus' now?"

"Adrienne," she replies, smiling like she thinks she knows some shit. "Playin', too. That guitar Dale found."

I grunt, not sure how to respond to that. She closes the door, leaving me to my thoughts. Adrienne. I didn't know she had that in her. Ain't like we've discussed our hobbies or nothin', ain't like that shit matters now, so how the hell would I have known? It don't surprise me, though. She never does anything half-assed and her singing ain't an exception. Despite my best efforts not to think about it, I find myself wishing she'd sing more.

*Adrienne's POV*

"Sup?" T-Dog asks as he and I step out of our tent the next morning, eyeing Glenn as he approaches with a large basket.

"Nothing!" Glenn says hastily. "Nothing's up, why?"

"Dude… are those peaches?" I question, rubbing my eyes blearily.

*Daryl's POV*

I feel like I got tossed around in a goddamn cement mixer. Everything hurts. I stayed in my own tent last night anyway, though. I didn't find that little girl, wasted the whole day getting back up that goddamn ravine. I ain't gonna sleep in some cushy bed I didn't do nothin' to earn. It don't feel right and, anyway, I feel safer out here. I ain't supposed to go back out today. probably not tomorrow, neither. Doctor's orders. I don't like it, but I ain't stupid. I know I wouldn't get too far with these wounds. So here I am, just laying on my ass, poking holes in the mesh window of my tent with an arrow out of sheer boredom. Ain't like I got anything else to do.

"Hey."

Andrea. She's just stepping on into my tent like she's invited.

"This is not that great, but…" she trails off with a sigh, holding out a worn paperback, taking a seat beside me as I accept the book.

The Case of the Missing Man by Jimmie Herron, huh? I flip through it appraisingly, noting with some amusement that page 46 is dog-eared. Adrienne must've been reading this. Dale's always after her to quit bending the pages of his books. It's kinda cute she does it, though.

"What, no pictures?" I scoff.

This thing must be full of words containing more than three whole syllables. Can't be all that interesting if Adrienne only got 46 pages in and didn't think it worth finishing, though. Ain't never seen nobody read as fast as that girl, not even Merle.

"I'm so sorry," Andrea says, shaking her head. "I feel like shit."

"Yeah, you 'n me both," I point out, setting the book aside.

"I don't expect you to forgive me, but if there's anything I can do…" she trails off, at a loss.

"You were tryin' to protect the group,'' I nod. "We're good."

I get it. It was an honest mistake. Still, though…

"But hey," I start, Andrea stopping on her way out the door. "Shoot me again, you best pray I'm dead."

She grins, knowing I don't mean nothin' by it, not really. She's impulsive. Bitchy sometimes, but I think she means well. She's just trying to do right by the group. Same as me.

*Adrienne's POV*

Peaches  _ and  _ jerky. I take one, then, on second thought, take another, grab a couple pieces of jerky, and head towards Daryl's tent. I know I'd decided to stay away from him but I'm a sucker. Shoot me. As I'm approaching his tent, though, Andrea steps out of it and I'm reminded of what Dale said yesterday about the two of them in the woods, not coming back for a  _ long while. _ Did she spend the night in there? I don't remember seeing her, she usually sleeps in the RV, but… well, whatever. It doesn't matter. I square my shoulders as Andrea stalks past me without a word, and head inside Daryl's tent despite her. I guess I'm a glutton for punishment.

"Um."

Great start Adrienne, you're brilliant. I  _ know _ I know words, I just seem to have forgotten all of them due to Daryl's buttons. They're undone, all of them, leaving his chest and stomach bare. God damn it, why the  _ fuck  _ does he have to have chest hair, and  _ why _ is it so damn distracting?

"I brought you a peach," I mutter, thrusting the fruit towards him. "And jerky. Glenn's got a shit ton, but I, uh… I wanted to make sure you got some before it's gone."

He takes the food silently, biting into the peach and nodding his thanks. Well. At least he didn't tell me to take my peaches and fuck off. Go do something  _ useful. _

"Okay, uh... that was all I guess," I mumble awkwardly, turning to leave.

"Adrienne."

I turn back, eyeing him quizzically.

"You should ease up on Andrea," I bristle at his words. "She was just tryin' to protect the group."

"You heard about that, huh?" I ask him, somewhat ashamed. "She tell you?"

"Pretty sure everyone heard it," he shrugs. "You ain't quiet."

"Sorry. I'll try to be more gentle with your girl," I spit sarcastically before I can stop myself. "Next time she  _ shoots _ somebody, I won't say a word about it."

Fuck. Bitter much? Daryl's staring at me like I've sprouted a second head. Shit. He knows. He  _ knows _ I like him and he knows I'm a walking case of sour grapes.

"I need to help T-Dog with somethin'," I mutter, wincing at my own patheticism, and practically sprint from the tent, right past T-Dog.

Yeah. Help T-Dog with something my ass.

"Adie!" Shane whistles, beckoning me to where he, Rick, and Jimmy are bent over the Cherokee, huddled around the county survey map.

"Creek flows south, past that farmhouse Daryl found," Rick is saying. "Maybe Sophia dropped the doll there, current brought it downstream."

"You thinkin' she took this road 'n went north?" I question, tapping the small residential street just beside the Greene's property line.

"Yeah," Rick confirms, turning to Jimmy. "What's up that way?"

"A housing development," the boy informs him. "It went in maybe ten years ago."

"Take a run up there after gun practice," Rick orders, eyes on Shane. "I'll hold down the fort here, but take backup. After what went down with Daryl, I don't want anyone goin' out alone. We stay in pairs."

"I'll take suggestions on a partner," Shane says, nudging me with his elbow. "What do you say? You up to it?"

I balk. I don't wanna go anywhere with Shane. He hasn't been quite right in a while, but… he got worse after he came back from that run to the high school with Otis. I think he killed him. God forbid I slow him down and he offs me, too.

"I need Adie here," Rick murmurs, eyeing me quizzically before turning his attention back to Shane. "Us takin' off with most of our people, I need her to stay, defend this place. See how they do on the range, then take your pick."

Glenn sidles up to us before Shane can protest, bearing more peaches. I wave him away, but Rick and Shane both accept the fruit. I just don't feel right about it, like taking another would be more than my share. Rick, evidently feeling otherwise, takes a second peach and places it in my hands.

"Thanks," Shane grunts, chewing noisily.

Glenn's just standing here, looking lost. I don't know what the hell's up with him, but he's acting shifty. Guilty almost. Like when he caught Merle in my pack and Merle told him if he told me, he'd take his  _ ‘chinky little eyes right out them sockets.’ _ Of course, Glenn had felt so damn guilty not telling me he couldn't sleep, came knocking at my tent the same night. He's still got eyes, so I guess it worked out fine.

"My binoculars," Shane prompts.

"Yeah, oh, yeah," Glenn rushes, quickly shoving the basket of peaches into my arms.

I hold onto the basket, watching as he pulls Shane's binoculars from around his neck and hands them over. He's not making eye contact with anyone. That's his tell. He's keeping some kind of secret, he's gotta be.

"Okay, bye," he mumbles, snatching the basket from my arms and wandering off.

"What the hell's up with him?" I question, eyes on his retreating form.

"I don't know," Rick murmurs, squinting at after him.

"We'd like to join you for gun trainin' today," Beth announces, she and Patricia suddenly materializing beside the Cherokee.

"Hershel's been very clear," Rick states firmly. "I can't involve any of you in what we do without his okay."

"He doesn't like it, but he consented," Beth assures him.

Another difference between her and Jimmy. That kid was lying to us when he said Hershel was okay with him joining our people in the search yesterday. But Beth? Hell, that girl doesn't have a dishonest bone in her body.

"Otis was the only one who knew guns," Patricia says heavily, and I can't help my eyes from flickering towards Shane, who stiffens beside me at the dead man's name. "Now that he's gone, we gotta learn to protect ourselves. Her father saw the sense in that."

"No offense, but I'll ask Hershel myself," Rick tells her, unwilling to risk stepping on the doctor's toes.

I'm not willing to risk the chance Shane may convince Rick to make me go on that run, so I sneak away from the group, taking shelter in the Winnebago. I pull a book from Dale's shelf and lose myself in the fiction, which, in this world, has become far more simple. Lord of the Rings, the special trilogy edition. I'm several chapters into the book, Frodo about to celebrate the big 50, when Daryl limps into the RV.

"Shouldn't you be restin'?" I ask, gazing at him over the top of the book.

"She ain't my girl," he grunts, not quite meeting my eyes.

"Huh?"

"Andrea. She ain't my girl."

"You came all the way over here to tell me that?" I question softly, setting the book aside.

"Didn't want you goin' around with the wrong idea," he replies, still refusing to look at me. "Tellin' people shit that ain't true."

"I shouldn't have assumed…" I murmur apologetically as he starts to chew his lip like he does when he's nervous. "And I, um... I didn't say anything to anybody. I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable enough you felt like you had to get up."

"You didn't," he blurts, finally meeting my eyes.

"Then why-"

"She ain't my girl."

"I… okay. My mistake. Sorry," I say haltingly, taken aback at his adamance. "Um… do you wanna sit?"

He hesitates, forever chewing that damn lip of his. One of these days he's gonna chew it right off. He nods once, sitting gingerly on the end of the bunk I've made myself at home on and wincing.

"How you feelin'?"

Stupid question, really. He looks like hell.

"Gon' be alright."

"Rick doesn't want anyone goin' out on their own anymore. You had everybody pretty worried," I swallow thickly, unbidden tears stinging my eyes. "When Andrea shot and I saw you go down… I thought you were dead."

"Why do you care?" He demands.

"I don't know," I mutter. "I just do. Why's there need to be a reason?"

He's quiet for a moment and I'm afraid I might've fucked this up, but he's not leaving.

"Well… I ain't dead."

"Carol washed that shirt you lent me," I blurt, clearing my throat and changing the subject. "It's uh, it's hangin' on the line, but I can put it in your tent when it's dry if you like."

"Keep it."

"I'm not contagious, Daryl."

"I know. Keep it," he insists. "Looks better on you, anyway."

Holy fucking shit balls, did I imagine that? His ears are bright red and he's chewing on his thumb. I think he just complimented me. Daryl fucking Dixon pays attention to what  _ I  _ look like. I feel my cheeks flush, a silly smile spreading across my face. The truth is, I love that shirt. Not because it's his. Just… just  _ because. _

"Okay," I concede. "If you're sure."

He just nods in response, regarding me with a strangely open expression. He's never been easy to read, always so guarded. Defensive. Right now though, he looks more relaxed than I've ever seen. Still nervous and fidgety, like he wants to crawl out of his own skin, but somehow more at ease at the same time. Then Glenn comes bounding into the RV.

"Adie, I need-" he starts frantically, halting abruptly when he takes in my current company. "I need this!"

He snatches the book I'd been reading, glancing quizzically from my face to Daryl's and back to mine, curiosity written all over his features. He's gone almost as quickly as he'd arrived, leaving silence in his wake.

"Wonder what the hell he actually wanted," I muse. "He's been weird all mornin'. And he hates Lord of the Rings. Says hobbits freak him out."

"Hm," Daryl grunts, the openness of a few moments ago gone completely.

I peer over at him, noticing a small amount of blood pooling at his stitches, threatening to trickle down his temple.

"What?" He asks, shifting uncomfortably under my gaze.

"You have…" I start, trailing off and scooting closer to him.

I pull the sleeve of my flannel over my palm and carefully dab at his stitches, noticing how his body tenses and coils, even before I touch his skin.

"Blood," I finish, pulling my hand back and showing him the crimson stain soaking into my shirt cuff.

He looks at me, then his eyes drop to my thigh still pressing against his. He's not pushing me away. I decide to take a chance. I guess I'm feeling bold, or maybe I'm just ridiculously stupid. I lean in close, slowly, cautiously, and wait, giving him a chance to pull away. When he doesn't, I very hesitantly press my lips to his cheek before pulling back. He's still, his breath hitching slightly in his chest. I'm terrified I've made a huge mistake for a moment but then his eyes meet mine, guarded and not quite believing.

"You need to eat," I tell him, offering my hand.

He contemplates my hand for a moment, then takes it, allowing me to help him up. My heart is soaring. I lead him from the RV, and his hand stays in mine until we're out the door and exposed. I feel a small twinge of disappointment when he breaks contact, wiping his hand on his pants like there's something on it, but honestly I'll take what I can get from him, whatever he's willing to give me. I didn't think I'd actually get this far, and the dominant emotion I'm feeling as we make our way towards the rest of the camp is happiness. Daryl Dixon thinks I look good in his shirt.

*Daryl's POV*

She kissed me, and it ain't like when Carol did it, neither. This is different. I ain't sure how, but it is. I don't think Carol meant nothin' by it, and I ain't sure Adrienne did, neither, but I feel like my skin is on fire. I'm sure next time I look in a mirror I'm gonna see the scorched outline of her lips on my cheek. Is this a joke? Some kinda fever dream? It ain't, I  _ felt _ her hand in mine, small and so fucking soft and I was a little afraid to let go 'cause what if I stained her skin just from touching it? She's leading me towards Dale and I don't know why, but I'm letting her. I don't like that she thought it was like that with Andrea and, unless she's a shittier person than I think she is, she must not be with T-Dog like I thought. She wouldn't've put her lips anywhere near me if she was. Right?

I think it might've hurt her feelings when I pulled my hand from hers before anyone could see. I ain't ashamed, not really. I just don't know what she wants from me yet. I don't want nobody seeing me touch her and thinking I'm trying nothin', neither. Wondering what the hell she's doing, letting a redneck sumbitch like me soil her perfect skin. Maybe I'm thinking too much. Adrienne grabs a plate with some kind of fried meat on it from Dale and hands it to me, urging me to take a seat in a folding chair in the shade near where Carol is standing with a pitcher.

"I'm gonna grab you somethin' to drink," she says, heading towards Carol while I start on the slab meat I've identified as canned ham now I've tasted it.

It feels weird to admit, and I ain't never gonna say so out loud, but I think I like her taking care of me. I ain't used to anything being handed to me, always fending for myself. Part of me is worried I'm gonna pay for it later in some way, that she's gonna expect... I dunno what. But I know one thing. Nothin's free.

"I have water and orange juice," Adrienne's voice cuts into my thoughts as she drops into the seat next to me.

"Thanks," I grunt, having wolfed down the ham within the minute or so she'd been gone.

Product of growing up the way I did. You didn't eat now, you didn't eat.

"Does any of this feel weird to you?" She asks vaguely, her brows knitting as she passes me a glass of juice.

"How so?" I question, gulping down half the juice in a couple swallows.

"It just feels... I dunno, the way things  _ are _ here. None of the shit we've seen seems to have touched this place, not really," she explains, eyes far away as she takes in the scenery. "All the  _ death… _ it looks like a goddamn  _ war zone _ everywhere else we've been and I... I'm just tryin' to work out how the hell it's possible to be in the middle of it all unscathed."

"Just lucky, I guess," I shrug.

The truth is, it does feel weird. Logistically, we should've encountered more walkers around here than we've seen, even out here in farm country. We ain't even had any after Andrea fired that round yesterday. I guess the question is, what's bothering Adrienne, where the hell are they?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not write the song in this chapter, it's called Looking Out by Brandi Carlisle.


	20. Don't Look

**Chapter 20**

*Adrienne's POV*

There's a weird vibe from Andrea and Shane this morning, a tension I can feel almost the second I emerge from my tent. They came back from looking for Sophia yesterday afternoon looking a bit… well, I'd be willing to bet they'd just had sex if I had anything to bet with. They were flushed, disheveled, but not anxious or keyed up like they'd've been if they were running from walkers. Andrea looked like the proverbial cat who ate the canary, making eyes at Shane the rest of the evening. The thought is  _ nauseating, _ but maybe that's just because it's Shane and Andrea. Hell, at least Shane's moving on from Lori, though. And maybe Andrea's not interested in Daryl after all. Maybe this is a good thing all around. I drop into a camp chair next to Daryl and, to my relief, he doesn't seem to mind.

"Mornin'," I sigh, voice still heavy with sleep.

He nods hello, shoveling a forkful of eggs into his mouth. The man eats like a ravenous toddler, to the extent that, more often than not, he opts to skip utensils and eat with his fingers. It's messy and, honestly, kind of adorable. He stops eating for a moment, seemingly just realizing I don't have a plate.

"You ain't gon' eat?" He demands, his tone almost incredulous.

"Of course she is," Carol answers warmly, striding over to us with a plate in one hand and a pan of eggs in the other.

"Thank you," I murmur gratefully, taking the plate and digging in as she spoons another mountain of eggs onto Daryl's plate.

She smiles softly, then takes the empty pan back to the cooking fire to start a fresh batch. I wolf down the eggs in record time, not caring that they're hot enough to scald my throat on the way down.

"You wanna slow down there, Adie?" Shane chuckles.

"You wanna shut up?" I retort around a mouthful of egg.

"Anyone ever tell you you ain't a mornin' person?"

"Anyone ever-"

"Um… guys," Glenn interrupts nervously, standing to address the group. "So… the barn's full of walkers.

"You're shittin' me," I breathe, floored.

So that's why this place is so goddamn perfect, huh? The group abandons breakfast, all of us trooping on over to the barn to see for ourselves. Shane peers inside through a crack between the wooden slats, recoiling and stalking back to the group.

"You cannot tell me you're all right with this," he says disbelievingly, shouldering past Rick, heading back towards the farmhouse, probably to try and bully Hershel into submission.

"No, I'm not, but we're guests here," Rick says evenly. "This isn't our land."

"This is our lives, man!" Shane hollers.

"Lower your voice!" Glenn whispers frantically.

"We can't just sweep this under the rug," Andrea points out.

"It ain't right," Shane agrees, pacing. "Not remotely."

Oh yeah, these two definitely banged it out. They're almost never this quick to agree with each other. I don't disagree though, not this time. This is a huge threat. We need to get rid of the walkers before they get rid of us, or we just need to get the hell outta here.

"Okay, we either gotta go in there, we gotta make things right, or we just gotta go," Shane proclaims. "Now we have been talkin' about Fort Benning for a long time."

"We can't go!" Rick snarls.

"Why, Rick?" Shane demands. "Why?"

"Because my daughter is still out there," Carol pipes up.

"Okay," Shane huffs. "Okay, I think it's time we all start to just  _ consider _ the other possibility."

"Shane, we're not leavin' Sophia behind," Rick insists.

"I'm close to findin' this girl!" Daryl adds. "I just found her damn doll two days ago."

"You found her doll, Daryl," Shane scoffs. "That's what you did. You found  _ a doll. _ "

"Man, you don't know what the  _ hell _ you're talkin' about!" Daryl hollers.

"I'm just sayin' what needs to be said here, now you get a good lead, it's in the first forty eight hours!" Shane continues, shouting over Rick's attempts at shutting him up. "Let me tell you somethin' else, man, if she was still alive out there and saw you comin' all methed out with your buck knife 'n geek ears 'round your neck, she would  _ run _ in the other direction!"

This is the last straw for Daryl and he lunges at Shane, the two men trying to get past Rick and at each other. Immediately, the group is grabbing at the two, trying to pull them apart before someone ends up hurt. Without thinking, I jump in the middle, slipping between Daryl and Rick, back against the latter as I attempt to get the former's attention.

"Daryl! Daryl, he's not worth it!" I place my hands on his chest. "Daryl."

He looks at me, eyes softening the slightest bit as he stands down, backing away.

"Back off!" Rick shouts as Lori pushes Shane away from the fight.

"Keep your hands off me," Shane spits, glaring at Lori.

"Now just let me talk to Hershel!" Rick pleads as Shane walks away, stalking towards the house. "Let me figure it out."

"What are you gonna figure out?!" Shane roars, wheeling around and starting back towards Rick.

"If we're gonna stay, if we're gonna clear this barn," Rick hollers. "I have to talk him into it! It's his land."

"Hershel sees those things in there as people," Dale announces. "Sick people. His wife, his, his stepson."

"You knew?" Rick demands, whirling on Dale.

"Yesterday, I talked to Hershel," he nods.

"And you waited the night?" Shane asks, pointing an accusatory finger.

"I thought we could survive one more night," Dale says, voice rising defensively. "We  _ did. _ I was waiting til this morning to say something, but Glenn wanted to be the one."

"The man is crazy, Rick!" Shane cuts in. "If Hershel thinks those things are alive or no!"

All this yelling has riled up the walkers inside the barn, and the argument finally ceases when they begin to push against the door, growling feverishly as the hinges creak.

"You think you can shut the fuck up  _ now? _ " I hiss at Shane, all of us turning and fleeing back to camp.

-

Rick confronting Hershel was, predictably, a failure. The doctor is adamant. His farm, his barn, his rules. Daryl decides he's going back out, just like I knew he would. I catch him around lunchtime heading for the stable, saddle in hand.

"Daryl," I place my hand on his arm, but he shakes me off and keeps walking. "Daryl, please! You're hurt, you-"

"I can't just sit here!" He shouts, whirling around and glaring at me. "Sippin' on  _ lemonade, _ pretendin' we ain't got any damn problems."

"Then don't," I shrug. "But don't go alone. I'll go with you."

"I don't need nobody slowin' me up!" He snaps.

Jesus. What is it with him? Always one step forward, three steps back. Every time I think maybe we're making progress, maybe he actually fucking likes me...

"I know you think you can get by without people," I murmur quietly. "But you  _ can't,  _ not anymore."

"You don't know nothin'," he replies coldly. "How do I know if the shit hits you ain't just gon' leave me like my brother?"

" _ I _ didn't leave your brother!" I snarl. "If he hadn't been actin' a damn fool, if he hadn't knocked me on my ass, maybe he'd've made it back to camp with us!"

"What, 'cause y'all were such good pals?" He scoffs. "Huh?"

"We weren't best friends, but I was the  _ only _ one on that run who gave a single shit about gettin' him back in one piece!"

"Yeah, and a whole lotta fuckin' good that single shit did 'im!"

He's gone, stomping off towards the stable without another word. I stand, rooted to the ground in stunned silence, just watching him go. Asshole.

"Adie?" Carol says softly behind me. "What's goin' on?"

"Daryl's goin' out," I spit, turning my back on the stable and heading back to camp.

"You're not gonna stop him?" Carol asks incredulously.

"Nope," I tell her over my shoulder. "If I wanted to babysit, I'd hang out with Jimmy."

"Adie!"

I ignore her, continuing my stride, and she gives up, sprinting after Daryl herself. I hurl myself into one of the camp chairs at the pit, glaring at the stable. Eventually, a very pissed off Daryl emerges, Carol on his heels, having evidently managed to say whatever the hell he needed to hear to get him to stay.

"I'm goin' for a run," I announce, springing to my feet. 

"Run?" Rick demands. "Run  _ where? _ "

"I won't leave the farm,  _ dad, _ " I huff, twirling my hair into a bun and securing it at the top of my head. "Just gonna run the perimeter. I'm not askin', I'm tellin' you where I'll be."

I don't bother waiting for a response. I do a couple stretches, mostly for formality's sake, and sprint away. I keep my promise, sticking to the perimeter. I just need to  _ move. _ So I run, lapping the farm, focusing on my breath, my heart, strong and steady, the smell of the air, the heat, the flyaways escaping my hair tie and sticking to my sweat slicked forehead, anything other than Daryl fucking Dixon.

*Daryl's POV*

I'm going back out. Ain't shit nobody can say to stop me. I fling the saddle I'm carrying onto a frame. Jesus Christ, that hurts. This wound in my side is gonna be a bitch, but at least it ain't bleeding.

"You can't," Carol announces, stepping into the stable.

"I'm fine," I grunt.

God damn it. First Adrienne, now Carol. The hell these women want from me, anyway? I pull a pair of reins off the tack wall, hoping she'll drop it. But she don't.

"Hershel said you need to heal," she insists.

"Yeah," I huff, stepping into one of the horse stalls. "I don't care."

"Well, I do," she counters, softening. "Rick's goin' out later to follow the trail."

"Yeah, well I ain't gon' sit around 'n do nothin'," I mutter, fastening the reins onto the horse.

Hopefully this one ain't gonna throw me and leave me for dead like that other one did. Nervous Nelly. Stupid.

"No, you're gonna go out there and get yourself hurt even worse," she points out. "We don't know if we're gonna find her, Daryl."

I freeze for a moment, trying to figure out if I'd heard her correctly. She don't think Sophia's out there? She's ready to give up on her own fuckin' kid? I abandon the horse, turning to face her.

"We don't," she repeats softly, tears in her eyes. "I don't."

"What?" I demand.

"Can't lose you, too," she mumbles pitifully.

After all this time, finding a damn trail, finding her doll… we're closing in on this girl and her own mother don't have faith in her. In me. She don't think I can do it. Fine. I won't. I drop the reins at Carol's feet, shoulder past her and lift the saddle from the frame. Before I realize what an impulsive, phenomenally  _ stupid _ idea it is, I hurl the sumbitch to the ground. I double over, the pain excruciating.

"Are you alright?" Carol rushes to my side.

"Jus' leave me be," I hiss, waving her away. "Stupid bitch."

I regret the words the moment they leave my lips. Why'd I call her that? Yeah, I'm pissed, that ain't an excuse. I sound just like my ol' man, screaming at my mother. Seems Carol don't give a shit what I call her, though. Just like my mom didn't when it was my dad calling her names. I hate myself. She follows me, silent, while I stomp my way around the farm, fuming. She's still here. Just makes me feel guiltier. I called her a bitch. Yelled at her. Why's she still hanging around me?

Adrienne, however, ain't so much as glanced my way since I decided to stay. She's busied herself running around the farm. Literally running, like it's some kind of Olympic event. I stopped trying to count her laps when she made a pass around the chicken coop and I couldn't remember if it was the ninth time I'd seen her or the tenth. Part of me wishes she'd come talk to me, gimme a chance to say I'm sorry for what I said. The other, smarter part of me knows I don't deserve a goddamn second of her time. And another part of me wonders how the fuck that girl manages to hold on to any calories at all.

"You see it?" I ask Carol eventually, having calmed down enough to spot the Cherokee roses growing near the duck pond as we trudge our way along the banks.

"See what?"

I point them out to her. I refuse to let her give up hope. Not on her own little girl.

"I'll find her," I tell her earnestly. "Hey, uh… I'm sorry about what happened this mornin'."

"You wanted to look for her," she says, like it's that simple. "Why? This whole time I've wanted to ask you."

"'Cause I think she's still out there," I tell her honestly. "Truth is, what else I got to do?"

She contemplates that, stepping towards the flower and stroking the petals. I know it ain't the whole truth. I do think she's still out there, and I do need the distraction from worrying about Merle, but they ain't the only reasons. I guess I think if I can find that girl, bring her back, I can earn my place here. Prove myself. Prove I'm good enough, that I ain't just some worthless asshole.

"We'll find her," she says. "We will. I see it."

*Adrienne's POV*

"Adie!" T-Dog hollers, headed my way with Andrea in tow. "Slow up!"

I stop in my tracks, doubling over to catch my breath while I wait for them to meander over here. I'm sweating like hell and covered in dirt, and half the hair on my head has come undone from the elastic, tumbling down around my face. My heart is thundering in my chest and the air feels heavy and sharp in my lungs and it feels  _ damn _ good. Jesus, I missed this. I should start running again, like I used to. For fun, for  _ release, _ instead of only running when I have to. I wonder if Hershel's got a soccer ball or something. Jimmy's got that bat, surely they've got a baseball around here someplace. Might be fun to organize a game, kick Shane's ass.

"You seen Dale or Shane around?" T questions, reaching my side.

"No," I pant. "Why?"

"They're both gone. Can't find either of 'em and Rick went off somewhere with Hershel," Andrea replies, not quite meeting my eyes. Good.

I fall into step with them and we head towards the farmhouse. Carl and Patricia are on the porch, embroiled in a very serious game of checkers, Beth quietly looking on. Glenn and Maggie are perched on the porch steps, looking quite cozy. Damn it, is  _ everyone _ around here sleeping with each other? What the hell? Glenn rises from the steps as we approach.

"Adie, I don't know if you know this, but the hair is supposed to go  _ inside _ the pony tail holder," he smirks, flicking me gently on the forehead.

"Ha, ha," I scoff. "Clever. I  _ know _ how hair ties work, jackass. My hair just doesn't cooperate."

"I could braid it for you some time," Beth offers timidly. "If you want."

"You are an  _ angel, _ " I grin. "I'd love that."

"Do you know what's goin' on?" T questions, demanding Glenn's attention.

"Where is everyone?" Andrea asks.

"You haven't seen Rick?" Glenn questions right back.

"He went off with Hershel," Andrea explains. "We were supposed to leave a couple hours ago."

"Yeah, you were," Daryl says, irritation lacing his voice, as he and Carol join the party. "What the hell?"

God damn it. I guess I couldn't avoid him forever, but I'm still not ready to be around him. I never know where I stand with him from one minute to the next and I hate it. God, he pisses me off.

"Rick told us he was goin' out," Carol adds.

"Damn it! Isn't anybody takin' this seriously?" Daryl demands. "We got us a damn trail. Oh, here we go."

Shane's headed towards us, toting the gun bag. Dale, who has been in charge of keeping the guns safe, isn't with him and that needles at me for some reason.

"What's all this?" Daryl questions, gesturing at the weaponry.

"You with me, man?" Shane asks, offering him one of the rifles from the bag.

Shit. He wants to clear the barn while Rick and Hershel aren't around to tell him no.

"Yeah," Daryl agrees, taking the gun.

"Time to grow up," Shane spits, placing a rifle in my hand without asking how I feel about it before turning to Andrea. "You already got yours?"

"Yeah," she says, cocking her head. "Where's Dale?"

"He's on his way," Shane says evasively.

"Thought we couldn't carry," T-Dog points out, taking a gun anyway.

"Yeah," Shane huffs. "Well we can and we have to."

"Shane," I sigh. "I'm with you, alright, the barn's a problem, but we-"

"Look, it was one thing standin' around here pickin' daisies when we thought this place was s'posed to be safe!" He shouts over me. "But now we know it ain't. How 'bout you, man?" He asks, offering Glenn a weapon. "You gon' protect yours?"

"Shane!" I snap. "We start shootin' up the barn, we may as well be diggin' our own graves. There has to be a smarter way to do this. Quieter."

"There ain't," he retorts, still holding the gun out for Glenn.

After exchanging a glance with Maggie, Glenn takes the gun.

"That's it," Shane says, turning to Maggie. "Can you shoot?"

"Can you  _ stop? _ " She demands. "You do this, you hand out these guns, my dad will make you leave tonight."

"We have to stay, Shane," Carl says from the porch.

"What is this?" Lori demands, emerging from the house.

"We ain't goin' anywhere, okay?" Shane assures Carl. "Now look, Hershel, he's just gotta understand. Okay, he… well, he's gonna have to. Now we need to find Sophia, am I right?" He asks, crouching down in front of him, offering the boy a gun. "Huh? Now I want you to take this. You take it, Carl, you keep your mother safe. You do whatever it takes, you know how, go on. Take the gun 'n do it."

"Rick said no guns, this is not your call." Lori hisses, stepping between her son and Shane. "This is not your decision to make."

"Oh,  _ shit, _ " T blurts, spotting Rick, Hershel, and Jimmy now approaching the fence line, pulling walkers on leads.

"What is that?" Shane demands, sprinting down to meet them. "What  _ is _ that?"

Shit, here we go. I hurtle after Shane, the others on my heels.

"What the hell you doin'?" Shane cries.

"Shane, just back off!" Rick orders.

"Why do your people have guns?" Hershel demands.

"Are you kiddin' me?" Shane roars. "You see? You see what you're holdin' onto?"

"I see  _ who _ I'm holding onto!" Hershel retorts.

"No, man, you don't," Shane argues.

"Shane, just let us do this and then we can talk!" Rick cries, struggling to hold the walker at the end of his lead.

"What you wanna talk about, Rick?" Shane demands. "These things ain't sick! They're not people! They're dead! Ain't gotta feel nothin' for 'em 'cause all they do, they kill! These things, right here! They're the things that killed Amy! They killed Otis! They're gonna kill all of us 'less we do-"

"Shane, shut up!" Rick roars.

"Hey, Hershel, man, lemme ask you somethin','' Shane says calmly. "Could a living, breathing person, could they walk away from this?" He demands, firing three shots into one of the walkers. "That's three rounds in the chest! Could someone who's alive, could they just take that? Why is it still comin'?" He fires two more rounds. "That's its heart! Its lungs! Why is it still comin'?!"

Two more shots.

"Shane, enough!" Rick commands.

"Yeah, you're right, man," Shane agrees, striding towards the walker. "That  _ is _ enough," he fires one last round into its head, the walker dropping to the ground, dead, Hershel falling to his knees beside it. "Enough riskin' our lives for a little girl who's  _ gone! _ Enough livin' next to a barn full of things that're tryin' to kill us!  _ Enough! _ Rick, it ain't like it was before! Now if y'all wanna live, if you wanna survive, you gotta fight for it! I'm talkin' 'bout fighting  _ right _ here,  _ right _ now!"

"Take the snare pole!" Rick cries desperately as Shane whirls around, tearing towards the barn. "Hershel! Take the snare pole!"

Hershel is in shock, hasn't left the ground. Rick continues to beg him while Shane takes a pickaxe to the chains and the wooden 2x4 barricading the walkers inside the barn, ignoring our desperate attempts to dissuade him. But there's no getting through to him, there's no reasoning with him, and when the walkers begin to pour through the opening he created, we have no choice. The bullets start flying, walkers dropping to the ground right, left, and center, Hershel and his family watching in horror as their neighbors, people they knew and recognize and  _ loved, _ are slaughtered in front of them. And they just keep coming, one after another after  _ another, _ until the last one hits the ground, the ceasefire leaving a deafening silence in its wake. Then another low snarl floats from inside the barn and one more walker shuffles into view. Oh, no...

"Sophia!" Carol sobs, breaking into a run. "Sophia?!"

Daryl grabs her before she makes it past him, wrapping his arms around her waist protectively as she collapses into him, wailing, eyes on her reanimated daughter stumbling from the barn. Sophia inches closer, tripping over the other bodies, but no one moves. I can't bring myself to do it. I sink to my knees beside Carol, watching helplessly as Rick walks towards the little girl we've spent days searching for. Right here under our noses, dead this whole time. Rick fires, Sophia's body hitting the ground with a terrible finality.

"Don't look," Daryl commands, pulling Carol to her feet, trying to shield Sophia's body from her view. "Don't look."

Carol breaks away from him, violently jerking herself from his arms and fleeing. The silence is broken again when Beth stumbles forward, body shaking with sobs as she collapses to the ground beside her mother's corpse. But the shot wasn't fatal, and the walker's rotted hands claw at Beth's body, closing around the girl's neck as we surge forward, prying the girl and the carcass apart, Andrea burying a scythe in its head.

"We've been out, we've been combin' these woods lookin' for her and she was in there all along!" Shane shouts as the grieving family walks away.

"Shane!" I hiss. "Let 'em be!"

"You  _ knew! _ " Shane continues.

"Leave us alone!" Maggie cries.

"Shane, just stop, man!" Rick orders, grabbing at Shane's shoulders.

"Get your hands off me!" Shane snaps. "You knew and you kept it from us!"

"I didn't know," Hershel says flatly.

"That's bullshit!" Shane snarls. "I think you all knew!"

"We didn't know!" Maggie insists.

"Why was she there?" Shane demands.

"Your… Otis put those people in the barn," Hershel says weakly. "Maybe he found her and put her in there before he was killed."

"And you expect me to believe that? What do I look like, an idiot?" Shane questions.

"I don't care what you  _ believe! _ " Hershel shouts.

"Everybody just calm down," Rick soothes, attempting to mediate.

"Get him off my land!" Hershel orders.

"Let me tell you somethin', man-" Shane starts, reaching for Hershel.

"Don't touch him!" Maggie spits, slapping Shane hard across the face. "Haven't you done enough?"

"I mean it," Hershel says. "Off my land."

He and his family shut themselves inside the house and I take off, tearing towards the treeline, intent on getting far the fuck away from these people. All of them. Once I'm hidden in the trees, I collapse to the forest floor and let loose the sobs I've been holding back from the moment Sophia's body walked out of that barn. I cry for the injustice of it all. For the Greenes. For Carol, who lost her child. For Sophia, who lost her life.

Once I've purged all I can, the well of my tears drying, I pick myself up and head to the RV. Carol's there, stoic and staring unblinkingly out the window. I step inside and sit down across from her, a silent support. I can't begin to comprehend the loss of a child, but my heart aches for the little girl who lost her mother. Eventually, Daryl appears in the doorway, also at a loss for words. He slumps down into a seat and we all sit and grieve together.


	21. They Drew On Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: panic attack, mentions of possible rape/sexual assault

**Chapter 21**

"They're ready," Lori says quietly, emerging in the doorway of the RV.

Carol just shakes her head.

"Come on," Lori coaxes gently.

"Why?" Carol questions.

I don't have an answer. I wish I did, because Lori's at a loss, too.

"'Cause that's your little girl," Daryl tells her.

"That's not my little girl," Carol says, her face devoid of any emotion at all now. "That's some other… thing. My Sophia was alone in the woods. All this time I thought… she didn't cry herself to sleep. She didn't go hungry. She didn't try to find her way back. Sophia died a long time ago."

I can't accept that. I believe she ran like hell. I believe she got lost, wandered, and cried alone.  _ Otis put those people in the barn. _ If that's true, Sophia was in there  _ before _ Carl was shot, less than a day after she went missing. But that doesn't mean she didn't suffer. I get to my feet, pausing to touch Carol's shoulder, and leave the RV to pay my respects. Daryl evidently decides to do the same, silently falling into step beside me. I catch his hand in mine and squeeze briefly, dropping my hand back to my side as we reach the group at the gravesite. I'm still pissed at him, but he was so sure… he was so sure he was gonna find her. He cared about Sophia and he cares about Carol. He's grieving, too.

There's nothing said. Nothing that can be said. We mourn in silence, each eventually going our separate ways to grieve on our own terms. Daryl's angry. He's packed up his things and moved out into the field. I get it, I think. He did more to find Sophia than any of the rest of us, damn near died for looking. That reminds me… I still have rotting ears in my pocket. I head over to where Daryl is now hanging furs onto a clothesline running from his tent to the ruins of an old silo beside it.

"Hey," I murmur.

He says nothing. I expected that. What I didn't expect, though, is the rage in his eyes when he looks at me. The hostility rolling off his skin. He's hurting. And when Daryl hurts, he lashes out. I don't know if it's because he doesn't wanna hurt alone or if he just doesn't want anyone to think he hurts at all. Maybe a little of both.

"I, um-"

"Did you need somethin'?" He spits, his steely eyes glinting in the sun.

I swallow my hurt, telling myself it's not personal. He doesn't wanna talk. Fine. I didn't think he would. That's not why I came here, anyway. I dig the ears from my pocket and cross to the clothesline, hanging the necklace among the squirrel and possum skins already swaying in the breeze.

"Figured you held onto these for a reason," I mutter. "Thought you might want 'em back."

I push past him, ducking into the trees. I'd never spent much time in the woods before the quarry, but since the world ended I've discovered a profound sense of safety among the trees. Dense thickets of quaking aspens and dogwoods like silent sentries. I can hide, here in the green. I wander for a bit, heading back before too long. I want to give my condolences to Hershel and his family, if they'll let me. When I emerge from the trees, though, Glenn and Rick are ducking into the Cherokee.

"Where the hell are you two runnin' off to?" I blurt.

"Hershel's missin','' Rick announces. "We think we know where he is, we're gonna go get 'im, bring 'im back."

"I'll come with you," I volunteer. "I need to do somethin'."

Rick nods his assent like I'm not just gonna do what I'm doing anyway and I hop in the backseat. Glenn fills me in on our way into town. Beth collapsed, she needs medical attention. We're on our way to a bar in town called Hatlin's, where Hershel apparently used to go to get wasted back in the day in the hopes he'll be hiding out there. Weird. Hadn't pegged him for a reformed alcoholic. Everybody has their demons, I guess.

"Adie," Glenn says hesitantly. "You're a girl."

"Am I?" I question, feigning shock. "Oh, my god, I had no idea... how long have you known?"

"Maggie said she loves me," he blurts.

"Hmm," I hum thoughtfully. "Guess your pipe game's on point. Nice goin', Fabio. Didn't know you had it in you."

"Shut up."

"You deserved that. When were you gonna tell me you and Maggie were even a thing?"

"When were  _ you _ gonna tell  _ me _ about Daryl?" He fires back, Rick's eyes flicking up in surprise to meet mine in the rearview.

"What about Daryl?" I retort scathingly. "There's nothin' to tell."

"Yeah, right," Glenn scoffs, rolling his eyes.

We ride in silence for a few more minutes before Glenn breaks it. Again.

"She doesn't mean it," he announces. "I mean, she can't. I mean, why… she's, she's upset or confused. She's probably feeling like-"

"I think she's smart enough to know what she's feelin'," Rick points out. 

"No… no," Glenn argues, Rick and I sharing a glance and laughing at our poor lovelorn friend. "No, you know what?" He continues. "She, she wants to be in love so she's… she needs something to like… to hold onto."

"Glenn, it's pretty obvious to everyone Maggie loves you, and not just because you're one of the last men standing. So what's the problem?" Rick asks.

"I didn't say it back," Glenn admits.

"Huh," Rick grunts, at a loss as I snicker in the back.

"Don't laugh!" Glenn snaps. "I've never had a woman say that to me before, you know? Except my mom, of course, and, and, and my sisters... but with Maggie, it's different. I mean, we barely know each other. What, what, what does she really know about me? Nothing. We're practically strangers. But I, I didn't know what to do with it, I just stood there like a jerk."

"Dude," I interject. "You're thinkin' about this  _ way _ too hard. It's not like you met some girl at a club one night, hooked up and the next mornin' she wants to get married and have your babies. It's different now. She feels somethin' for you and wanted to say so before she lost the chance. When we get back, tell her. Or I'll kick your ass in front of her, and you know I can do it."

He's smiling. I can tell he feels something for her, he lights up in a different way when she's around. Makes me a little envious if I'm being honest. The person he cares for cares for him, too. That's pretty damn good from where I'm standing. We reach the bar, Rick parking near Hershel's red Chevy.

"Rick, I know about Lori," Glenn announces. "Her being pregnant."

What?! Glenn doesn't tell me shit anymore!

"I got her the pills."

What pills?!

"I figured," Rick says flatly, and the three of us exit the vehicle.

"Hey, I'm sorry I kept it from you," Glenn says sincerely.

"Don't be," Rick says. "You did what you thought was right. It just so happens it wasn't."

With that, we enter the bar. It's empty, save for one man.

"Hershel?" Rick asks gently.

"Who's with you?" The doctor questions, not bothering to look.

"Glenn and Adrienne," Rick informs him.

"Maggie sent 'em?"

"They volunteered," Rick says. "They're good like that."

Hershel seems to accept this, nursing a glass tumbler full of whatever poison's serving as his pick given the limited options at a bar with no tender. Rick crosses the room and leans against the counter.

"How many have you had?" He questions.

"Not enough."

"Let's finish this up back at home. Beth collapsed, is in some sort of state. Must be in shock, I, I think you are, too."

"Maggie's with her?"

"Yeah, but Beth needs  _ you. _ "

"What could I do? She needs her mother. Or, rather, to mourn like she should've done weeks ago. I robbed her of that. I see that now."

He takes another sip of his drink. So that's what this is about. He knows now. He's seen it. His wife was dead the moment she was bitten. His son, too.

"You thought there was a cure," Rick points out. "Can't blame yourself for holding out for hope."

"Hope?" Hershel chuckles bitterly. "When I first saw you two-" he points vaguely in what's supposed to be my direction but is actually closer to Glenn's. "Running across my field, with your boy in your arms, I had little hope he would survive."

"But he did," Rick points out.

"He  _ did, _ " Hershel nods. "Even though we lost Otis."

My stomach turns, souring with guilt. Shane killed Otis. I feel it in my gut. Rick has to know that, too. If he doesn't, it's 'cause he doesn't  _ want _ to. The truth is, I don't know what Rick wouldn't sacrifice to keep Carl alive. He's a father before he's anything else.

"Your man Shane made it back," Hershel continues. "And we saved your boy. That was the miracle that proved to me miracles  _ do  _ exist. Only it was a sham. A bait 'n switch. I was a fool, Rick, and you people saw that. My daughters deserve better than that."

"You're right," I blurt, the startled doctor craning his neck to look at me. "They  _ do  _ deserve better. So come back with us and  _ be  _ better. Show 'em it can be done, that they can still be alright, even now. Don't make 'em mourn you, too."

He ignores me, turning to pour himself another drink. I throw my hands up, crossing back towards the door.

"So what do we do?" Glenn demands as he and Rick join me at the door. "Just wait for him to pass out?"

"Just go," Hershel snaps. "Just go!"

"I promised Maggie I'd bring you home safe," Rick insists.

"Like you promised that little girl?" Hershel asks with a bitter laugh.

"Listen to me, you son of a-"

"Adie!" Rick hisses, cutting me off. "Adie, watch the door. Now."

I angrily swipe my tears away and step outside, watching the road while Rick and Glenn try to convince that ornery old man to quit feeling sorry for himself and come home to his daughters, both of whom, despite his stubbornness, are  _ alive. _ After a while, I spot a car approaching. Squinting, I can see it's not one of ours. Shit! I duck back inside, hoping I haven't been seen, the three men at the bar turning to face me.

"We got company."

*Daryl's POV*

"Movin' to the suburbs?" Lori quips, thinking she's funny.

She ain't. I ignore her, sharpening my knife. Maybe if I don't engage she'll run on home to her husband and boyfriend, tell 'em what an asshole I am. I don't give a shit, long as she leaves. I moved my camp out into the field away from these people after... I can't. I don't want to get close, don't wanna let  _ them _ get close.

"Listen, Beth's in some kind of catatonic shock," she continues. "We need Hershel."

"Yeah," I grunt, not bothering to look at her. "So what?"

"So I need you to run into town real quick and bring him and Rick back," she huffs, crouching beside me.

What, no please? Hell no. I ain't nobody's errand boy.

"Daryl?"

"Your bitch went window shoppin','' I glare at her. "You want 'im? Fetch 'im yourself. I got better things to do."

"What's the matter with you?" She demands. "Why would you be so selfish?"

"Selfish?" I snap, leaping to my feet, anger getting the best of me. "Listen to me, Olive Oyl. I's out there lookin' for that little girl  _ every single day. _ I took a bullet 'n an arrow in the process, don't you tell me about me gettin' my hands dirty! You want those two idiots? Have a nice ride. I'm  _ done  _ lookin' for people."

She leaves without another word. Ain't much she can say, really. Selfish? Ain't that the pot calling the kettle black? Glenn and Maggie didn't almost die bringing back conditioner for  _ me,  _ now, did they? Olive Oyl's accurate, too, always running around, waving her arms around at Popeye like she's the victim, like she don't know exactly what she's doing with that dumbass Bluto. Selfish, my ass.

*Adrienne's POV*

Moments later, two men step into the bar.

"Son of a bitch," one says to the other. "They're alive."

They make themselves at home, the one who had spoken taking a seat and pouring a round of drinks.

"I'm Dave," he announces. "That scrawny lookin' douchebag there is Tony."

Tony is not scrawny. In the slightest. Sure as hell doesn't look like he's been hungry, that's for damn sure.

"Eat me, Dave," Tony replies.

"Hey, maybe someday I will," Dave fires back. "We met on I-95 coming outta Philly. Damn shit show, that was."

"I'm Glenn," Glenn says, smiling, completely oblivious to the fact that these men are plain as day scumbags. "It's nice to meet some new people."

"Rick Grimes," Rick says, passing me a drink.

Hershel and I remain quiet. I'm not about to speak to these guys if I can help it.

"How 'bout you, pal?" Dave says, addressing Hershel. "Have one?"

"I just quit," Hershel declines.

"Got a unique sense of timing, my friend," Dave quips.

"His name's Hershel," Rick informs him. "He lost people today. A lot of 'em. That's Adrienne."

I glare at Rick. If I wanted them to know my name, I'd have said it myself.

"I'm truly sorry to hear that," Dave says quietly. "To better days and new friends," he toasts, raising his glass. "And to our dead. May they be in a better place."

He leans forward and my gaze lands on the piece he's carrying, safely tucked into the back of his jeans. Beretta mod 92. He sees Rick and I staring.

"Not bad, huh?" He questions, pulling it out and displaying it for us. "Got it off a cop."

"I'm a cop," Rick says flatly.

"This one was already dead," Dave recovers, a little too smoothly.

Tony is ogling me. Blatantly. The look in his eyes sends shivers down my spine and I scoot a little closer to Hershel, seeking comfort in close quarters.

"You fellas are a long way from Philadelphia," Rick observes.

"It feels like we're a long way from anywhere," Dave counters.

"Well, what drove you South?" Rick questions.

"Well, I can tell you it wasn't the weather," Dave jokes. "I musta dropped thirty pounds in sweat alone down here."

"I wish," Tony laments with a chuckle.

"No," Dave says. "First it was D.C. I heard there might be some kinda refugee camp, but the roads were so jammed we never even got close. We decided to get off the highways, into the sticks, keep haulin' ass. Every group we came across had a new rumor about a way outta this thing."

"One guy told us there was the coast guard sitting down in the gulf, sending ferries to the islands," Tony pipes up.

"The latest was a rail yard in Montgomery running trains to the middle of the country, Kansas, Nebraska…" Dave trails off, waving a hand.

"Nebraska?" Glenn asks.

"Low population, lotsa guns," Tony explains.

"Kinda makes sense," Glenn nods.

"You ever been to Nebraska, kid?" Dave questions. "A reason they call 'em flyover states," he and Tony share a laugh. "How about you guys?"

"Fort Benning, eventually," Rick says smoothly.

"I hate to piss in your cornflakes, officer, but um… we ran across a grunt who was stationed at Benning," Dave informs him, the picture of regret. "He said the place was overrun by lamebrains."

"Wait, Fort Benning is gone?" Glenn questions. "Are you for real?"

"Sadly, I am."

Yeah, I'll bet you are. Seems real broken up about it.

"Ugly truth is... there is no way outta this mess," Dave continues. "Just keep goin' from one pipe dream to the next, prayin' one of these mindless freaks doesn't grab ahold of you when you sleep."

" _ If _ you sleep," Tony adds.

"Yeah, it doesn't look like you guys are hangin' your hats here," Dave observes, looking around the room. "You, you holed up somewhere else?"

Glenn opens his mouth, but I silence him with a glare before he can utter a single syllable.

"Not really," Rick says.

"Those your cars out front?" Dave asks.

"Yeah," Glenn says, seeming to get the picture now. "Why?"

"We're livin' in ours," Dave claims. "Those look uh, kinda empty. Clean."

In other words, these two assholes didn't see anything worth taking in either vehicle.

"Where's all your gear?" Dave questions.

"We're with a larger group," Hershel admits. "Out scouting, thought we could use a drink."

"A drink?" Dave asks. "Hershel, I thought you quit."

"He did," I smile sheepishly, raising my glass. "I insisted."

I sip the bitter liquid, illustrating my point. Gin. I fucking hate gin.

"Well, we're thinkin' of setting up around here. Is it, is it safe?" Dave questions, seemingly accepting my explanation.

"It can be," Glenn says.

_ Dude, shut up! _ I try to communicate to him mentally. I love Glenn, but this whole wanting to believe the best of people shit needs to be rectified  _ immediately. _ Sure, it worked out fine with Rick, but these guys are bad news.

"Although I've uh, killed a couple of walkers around here," he adds.

"Walkers?" Dave repeats. "That what you call 'em?"

"Yeah," Glenn chuckles.

"That's good. I like that, I like that better than lamebrains," Dave says, scratching his head.

"More  _ succinct, _ " Tony agrees.

"Okay, Tony went to college," Dave scoffs.

What, is  _ succinct _ supposed to impress us?

"Two years," Tony adds proudly.

Apparently.

"So what, so what, you guys set up uh, on the outskirts or somethin'?" Dave presses. "That new development?"

"Trailer park or somethin'?" Tony chimes in, rising and crossing the room. "Farm?"

"Old McDonald had a farm," Dave sings. "You got a farm?"

Before anyone can answer him, Tony breaks the silence.

"E-I-E-I-O," he sings, taking a piss in the corner. Lovely. "Is it safe?" He asks, urine continuing to patter onto the floor.

"Gotta be," Dave observes. "You got food, you got water?"

"You got cooze?" Tony asks. "Ain't had a piece of ass in weeks," he announces, winking at me. "I like 'em ginger."

"What a coincidence," I state dryly, taking another tiny sip of gin.

"Listen, pardon my friend," Dave says, wincing apologetically. "City kids, they got no tact. No disrespect," he assures me before turning to Glenn. "So listen, Glenn-"

"We've said enough," Rick cuts him off firmly, shifting on his barstool in an attempt to shield me from Tony's view as much as possible.

"Well hang on a second," Dave protests. "This farm, it sounds pretty sweet. Don't it sound sweet, Tony?"

"Yeah, real sweet," Tony agrees, again with the lewd stare. "You single?"

"No," I snap, staring him down.

"How about a little southern hospitality?" Dave asks, sarcasm creeping into his carefully genteel facade. "We got some buddies back at camp, been havin' a real hard time. I don't see why you can't make room for a few more. We can pool our resources, our manpower."

"Look, I'm sorry, that's not an option," Rick states.

"Doesn't sound like it'd be a problem," Dave insists, shrugging.

"I'm sorry, we can't," Hershel tells him.

"We can't take in any more," Rick backs him up.

"You guys are somethin' else,'' Dave chuckles. "I thought you know, I thought we were friends."

"You make friends with every stranger you bump into?" I question. "What are you, the Pied Piper of dive bars?"

"Doesn't sound like you're too good at makin' friends, sweetheart," he retorts, turning his attention back to Rick. "We got people we gotta look out for, too."

"We don't know anythin' about you," Rick points out.

"Well, that's true," Dave admits. "You don't know anything about us. You don't know what we've had to go through out there, the things we've had to do," he's dripping with sincerity, but even Glenn has to realize the thinly veiled threat behind his words. "I bet you've had to do some of those same things yourself, am I right?"

There's a heavy silence.

"'Cause ain't nobody's hands clean in what's left of this world," Dave continues. "We're all the same. So come on, let's, let's take a nice friendly hayride to this uh, farm and we'll get to know each other."

"That's not gonna happen," Rick says, unmoved.

"Rick-"

"This is bullshit!" Tony hisses, interrupting whatever Dave was about to say.

"Calm down," Rick warns.

"Don't tell me to calm down, don't  _ ever _ tell me to calm down!" Tony snaps. "I'll shoot you three assholes in the head, nail your bitch, and  _ take _ your damn farm!"

I balk.  _ Nail your bitch. _ Jesus, there's no getting outta this without shooting these assholes. Rick's up off his barstool in no time, placing himself between me and Tony.

"Hey, woah, woah, woah, woah, woah, relax…" Dave jumps in, leaping from his seat. "Take it easy, nobody's killing anybody," he says, clapping Rick on the shoulder and climbing over the bar. "Nobody's shooting anybody, right Rick? Tony, how 'bout uh, how 'bout a little respect for our lady friend, huh?"

Tony fingers the carbine strapped to his back as Dave gently places his gun on the bar. But I smell bullshit. I tense, ready to grab my own weapon.

"We're just friends havin' a drink, that's all,'' Dave soothes. "Now, where's the good stuff? Huh?"

He rubs his hands together, making a big production of his search for the good stuff, Rick's hand flying to his holstered weapon.

"Hey, look at that!" Dave crows, emerging with a bottle of strictly bottom shelf scotch. "That'll work. You gotta understand. We can't stay out there. You know what it's like."

"Yeah, I do," Rick assures him, unyielding. "But the farm is too crowded as is. I'm sorry, you'll have to keep lookin'."

Rick catches my eyes and I know. This is it. Get ready.

"Keep lookin'?" Dave repeats. "Where do you suggest we do that?"

"I don't know," Rick shakes his head. "I hear Nebraska's nice." 

"Nebraska," Dave chortles mirthlessly. "This guy."

In the blink of an eye, four weapons are drawn, two shots are fired, and Dave and Tony's bodies hit the floor. Rick took out Dave as he lunged for the gun on the counter and I'd fired a round into Tony. Two lives snuffed out entirely in a fraction of a second.

*Daryl's POV*

"We can't find Lori," Carol announces breathlessly, approaching my camp. "And the others aren't back yet, either."

Night fell a while ago. She, Rick, Glenn, Adrienne, and Hershel should've all been long back by now. Ain't my problem, though. They ran into trouble, that's on them. I ain't gonna try anymore. I'm gonna ignore the twinge in my gut at the thought of never seeing Adrienne again, 'cause I ain't even sure why the fuck it's there in the first place. Lori should've known better than to go out by herself, anyway.

"Yeah," I grunt, poking at the small fire I'd built. "That dumb bitch must've gone off lookin' for 'em."

"What?" Carol breathes.

"Yeah, she asked me to go," I inform her. "Told her I's done bein' an errand boy."

"And you didn't  _ say _ anything?" She demands.

Didn't know I was supposed to. I feel guilty for a second, but only for a second. I ain't their goddamn babysitter. This group don't even want me here, I just ain't got nowhere else to go and they feel guilty about it. Ain't a damn one of 'em seems to give a shit about nothin' but what I can do for them. Carol walks off, but she don't leave.

"Don't do this," she says softly, turning back towards me. "Please. I've already lost my girl."

"Yeah, that wasn't my problem neither," I spit, stalking past her and into the trees.

I'm done talking.

*Adrienne's POV*

"Holy shit," Glenn breathes, staring down at Tony's body.

"You all right?" Rick asks.

"Yeah," he replies, but he's definitely shocked. 

"Adie?"

"I'm  _ fine, _ " I mutter, glaring at the scumbag on the floor.

"Hershel?"

Hershel remains silent for a time, then nods.

"Let's head back," he says, stone cold sober now.

Rick crouches next to Tony's body, taking the man's gun and extra rounds. Glenn rounds the bar, doing the same to the body on the other side. We're ready to head home when headlights slash through the darkness, a car pulling up just outside.

"Car, car!" Rick whispers frantically. "Get down."

We duck down low, hoping the car will pass us by. It doesn't, our hearts sinking as the engine cuts and we hear the sound of at least two people exiting the vehicle. Men.

"Dave? Tony? They said over here?" One man questions.

"Yeah," another replies.

"I'm tellin' you man, I heard shots," a third insists.

"I saw roamers two streets over, might be more around here," the second speaker announces.

"It's hot," the first says. "We gotta get outta here."

"Dave! Tony!" The third voice is adamant.

Kudos for loyalty, bro.

"Shut up, you idiot!" The first man chides. "You wanna attract 'em? Just stick close, we're gonna find 'em."

"Dude, he said to stay close!" Man two utters as one of the men stops just outside the door. 

"Tony!" Man one hisses, three silhouettes moving past the windows.

Glenn peeks past one of the curtains as Rick gets to his feet, looking out a window wearily.

"Why won't they leave?" Glenn whispers desperately.

"Would you?" Hershel counters.

"We can't sit here any longer," Rick announces. "Let's head out the back and make a run to the car."

We each rise, but the sound of gunfire has us all right back down again, with the exception of Rick. He's looking out the window, watching as the men outside have a hushed conversation about why the fuck the trigger happy moron risked the shots he'd fired.

"What happened?"

"Roamers, I nailed 'em."

"They disappeared, but their car's still there."

"I cleared those buildings, you guys get this one?"

"No."

"Me neither."

"We're lookin' for Dave and Tony and no one checks the damn bar?"

Fuck. They're coming in. We're gonna have to fight, there's no time. Glenn flings himself in front of the door, stopping it just before it's pushed open from the outside. Another hushed conversation between the men ensues, and we're royally fucked. They know we're here.

"What?"

"Someone pushed it shut, there's someone in there."

"Yo, is someone in there?"

"Yo, if someone's in there, we don't want no trouble. We're just lookin' for our friends,'' one of the men lies, the others starting to whisper.

"What do we do?"

"Bum rush the door?"

"No, we don't know how many are there, just relax," then louder, "We don't want any trouble. We're just looking for our friends. If something happened, tell us. This place is crawling with corpses. If you could help us not get killed, I'd appreciate it."

Rick is cracking, I can see it as the men continue to bicker.

"Dude, you're buggin', I'm telling you nobody's in there."

"Someone guard the door. If they're in there, they might know where Dave and Tony are."

The footsteps begin to fade, at least two of the men walking away. We could have taken the one, but fuck no. Because Rick decides to talk.

"They drew on us!" He shouts, drawing them back to the door.

"Rick!" I hiss vehemently.

"Dave and Tony in there?" One of the men questions. "They alive?"

"No," Rick says heavily.

"They killed Dave and Tony!"

"Come on man, let's go."

"No, I'm not leaving, I'm not telling Jane. I'm not gonna go back and tell them that Dave and Tony just got shot by some assholes in a bar."

"Your friends drew on us!" Rick shouts adamantly. "They gave us no choice! I'm sure we've all lost enough people. Done things we, we wish we didn't have to, but it's like that now, you know that! So let's just chalk this up to what it was. Wrong place, wrong-"

A hail of gunfire erupts, the windows and glass panes in the doors shattering and showering down on us.

"Get out of here!" Rick shouts, Glenn and Hershel scurrying their way into cover. "Go!"

Rick and I stay back, shooting through the shattered windows, hoping to hit one or more of the men while managing to avoid getting shot ourselves. The gunfire stops almost as suddenly as it started, not a sound coming from the street beyond. Have they retreated?

"Hey!" Rick calls out, reloading his gun. "We all know this is not gonna end well! There's nothin' in it for any of us! You guys just, just back off! No one else gets hurt!"

Nothing. Not a single, solitary- wait. They're in the back. Must've knocked into a crate, causing bottles to clink together, rattling and giving away their general position. Glenn looks at Rick, silently asking permission. Rick nods and Glenn takes off stealthily for the back room. Stealthily, until his weight makes the wooden stairs creak.

"Shit!" I hiss, sprinting quietly after him.

I reach the steps just as he reaches the bottom. He glances over his shoulder and I nod at him. I'll cover him. He nods back, gulping and moving further into the room. Then the doorknob at the back exit begins to turn. Without thinking, he fires through the window.

"Glenn!" Rick calls. "Adie!"

"We're fine!" I assure him. "We're good, we're fine."

I dart down the stairs, ducking behind a stack of crates while Glenn moves towards the door. It appears to have been abandoned, but I don't like how quiet it is. The air stirs behind us and Glenn and I whirl around, fingers on our triggers. It's just Hershel, hands above his head, our weapons aimed at his face. I lower my gun as Hershel gently pushes the barrel of Glenn's rifle away from him.

"Sorry, sorry…" Glenn breathes, clearly scared shitless.

"Rick wants you to try for the car," Hershel tells him.

"Try?" Glenn whimpers.

"You'll try and succeed," Hershel says firmly, remarkably calm considering the amount of alcohol he's consumed.

Then again, maybe that’s why. They don't call it liquid courage for nothing.

"We'll cover you," I add, trying to reassure him.

"That's a great plan," Glenn says sarcastically, moving towards the door.

"It's the  _ only _ plan," I hiss. "Sack up! You got this, I got you. I promise."

He slips out the door and into the alleyway behind the bar without another word, Hershel and I right behind him. No sooner than Glenn steps into that alley do the bullets start flying.

*Daryl's POV*

I thought I'd made myself clear, but Carol's back. Again. She's just standing here by the squirrel skins I'd hung to dry, staring at the ears Adrienne had hung beside 'em.

"What're you doin'?" I demand, and she whirls around, startled.

"Keepin' an eye on you," she replies.

"Ain't you a peach," I spit.

"I'm not gonna let you pull away," she insists. "You've earned your place."

Earned my place. Hell she think she knows about me? I ain't tryin' to earn nothin'. Not anymore. I'm gone the second my stitches are healed. I don't need these people. Never did.

"If you spent half your time mindin' your daughter's business instead of stickin' your nose in everybody else's, she'd still be alive!" I snarl.

I know it's cruel. But I need her to walk away. Why ain't she walking away?

"Go ahead," she murmurs, looking me right in the eye.

"Go ahead 'n what?" I snap, caught off guard. "I mean, just go! I don't want you here! You're a real piece of work, lady."

But still, she stands here. Nothin' I throw at her is working, she's just fuckin' standing here.

"What, are you gonna make this about my daddy, some crap like that?" I demand, scoffing. "Man, you don't know shit. You're  _ afraid. _ You're afraid 'cause you're all alone. You got no husband, no daughter. You don't know what to do with yourself."

Something snaps inside me and I'm yelling again. 

"You ain't my problem! Sophia wasn't  _ mine! _ " I roar. "All you had to do's keep an eye on her!"

She flinches, tears falling from her eyes, bracing herself like… Christ, did she think I was gonna hit her? I squash the guilt back down before I can really even feel it and finally,  _ finally, _ she leaves and I'm alone. Truth is, I'm the one that's afraid. I got no brother. Carol and Adrienne might be my only goddamn friends and I ain't done shit but fuck that up and I'm on my own just as much as Carol is, probably more, and  _ I don't know what to do. _ I throw some dirt on the fire and crawl into my tent. I don't sleep. I can't. I'll go. Tomorrow, I'll go, I'll find 'em. It's too little, probably too late, but I'm gonna try.

*Adrienne's POV*

"Duck!" Hershel commands, and I drop to my knees as he steps into the alley and fires at the asshole who shot Glenn.

His aim is good, the man dropping to the ground instantly. I sweep my eyes towards Glenn and my heart plummets. He's motionless, half his body obscured by a dumpster, his legs sticking into the alley. The man who shot him is still alive, groaning in pain.

"What happened?" Rick questions, tearing out of the bar and into the alley behind Hershel.

"He fired," Hershel says simply. "He must've hit Glenn."

Rick's eyes dart around the alley, settling on Glenn's exposed legs. He offers me his hand, helping me off my knees. I think I'm in shock. It happened so fast. It's  _ Glenn. _ He's not moving. I'm numb.

"You hit?" Rick whispers, side stepping along the building towards Glenn's legs. "Are you hit?"

"No," comes the reply, relief flooding my core. "No."

Rick ducks behind the dumpster, he and Glenn having a hushed and hurried conversation.

"Let's go!" Rick orders, the four of us tearing from the alley only to run directly into the line of fire, this time coming from a sniper stationed atop the neighboring building.

"Jesus Christ!" I howl in frustration as we duck for cover once more. "How many are there?"

Before we can figure it out, their ride pulls up, tires squealing. They're leaving, shouting frantically at their friend to jump. We watch as the man, a kid really, leaps from the rooftop. Cries of agony pierce the night air. He didn't make it. His friends tear off without him, ignoring his desperate pleas for help.

"Let's go!" I cry, ready to haul ass to the Cherokee.

Rick, however, has other ideas and we find ourselves across the street debating the fate of the kid, who'd managed to find himself impaled on a wrought iron fence post, walkers quickly descending upon us. I can't help but think this is a waste of time. This kid just shot at us, we don't owe him shit. Ultimately we decide we can't get his skewered leg off in one piece. We're gonna have to cut it off of him. The kid is hysterical, howling, drawing the walkers right to us.

"Shut up!" Rick snarls. "Shut up or I will shoot you!"

This does nothing, the kid is still raising hell.

"That may be the answer," Hershel points out. "We're not gonna get that leg off without tearin' the muscle to shreds. He certainly can't run, he may bleed out."

"Shut up!" Glenn hisses frantically at the kid, immediately apologetic. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, shh. Shut up."

"We need to put him down and get the hell outta here," I insist. "We don't have time for this!"

"Maybe we  _ should _ put him down," Hershel agrees. "I don't wanna see anymore killing, but this is cruel."

"Can't we just take the leg off?" Glenn asks.

"That hatchet still in the car?" Rick questions.

"No, no, no, don't!" The kid yelps. "Don't cut my leg off! Please! Please, not my leg."

"No, I gave it to T for the firewood last night," I snap impatiently, glaring warily at the encroaching walkers. "It's back home in the tent, where  _ we  _ should be."

"Will this cut through the bone?" Rick demands, pulling a jack knife from his pocket and holding the blade up for Hershel to assess.

"I'll have to sever the ligaments below the kneecap, cut above the tibia," Hershel announces, ignoring the kid's desperate pleas. "He's going to lose his lower leg. When we get clear of here, we're going to have to find some tinder, cauterize the wound so he doesn't bleed out."

"All right, no choice," Rick mutters. "Hurry up."

"No choice?" I demand. "Rick, we need to put him outta his misery and  _ go home. _ It's  _ dark. _ "

"We can't leave him," Rick insists.

He moves to hold the kid down while Hershel prepares to amputate. Glenn and I are on walker duty, but there are too many. We don't have the ammo, never mind the time. They're coming from both ends of the alley now.

"We gotta go!" I order, firing my last round into a walker, pulling my knife from my waistband and jamming it into another as at least a dozen more draw near. "Now!"

We run, giving up and abandoning the kid. Predictably, Rick thinks better of it and turns back, yanking the kid's leg up off of the fence post. The noise is nauseating, a gut wrenching squelch, and the kid's hysteria reaches new heights. We give him a makeshift tourniquet and he ends up tossed in the back of Hershel's red Chevy between me and Glenn. It's a long night finding tinder, finding somewhere safe to build a fire, cauterizing the little shit's wound and bandaging him up as best we can, killing walker after walker after goddamn walker… but we make it back home, exhausted and bloody, toting our unnecessary plus one, just as the sun begins to rise. Hugs are shared, Rick running to his family and Maggie embracing Glenn. I hop out of the car as Hershel begins barking orders.

"Patricia, prepare the shed for surgery!"

Rick and Lori engage in some kind of argument about why Lori shouldn't be running off alone in the night. Apparently she'd come after us when we weren't back after dark and crashed a car. Duh. I turn towards our new burden, glaring at him.

"Come on, then," I snap, allowing him to sling an arm over my shoulders, supporting his weight as he exits the vehicle.

"Who the hell is that?" T demands, horrified, watching as I struggle with the barely conscious, barely pubescent boy.

"This asshole's Randall," I grunt, doing my best to hold him up without much effort on his part. "Randall, say hello. Mind your damn manners."

Randall just passes out. Hershel and Patricia take him, and I stalk into the house with the rest of the group, ready to make my opinions known.

-

"We couldn't just leave him behind," Rick tells the group gathered around the dining table.

"The hell we couldn't've!" I spit, pacing the length of the room.

We've spent the last thirty minutes regaling the others with our tale. Well. Rick and Glenn did the regaling. I've been seething. Lori came after us last night, crashed Maggie's car. Shane brought her back. Beth's still in some kind of catatonic shock, but now we've got Hershel back he can tend to her. The most notable absence is Daryl's. Lori had asked him to come find us when we weren't back by dinner. He'd refused, still trying his damnedest to disentangle himself from all of us. It hurts more than it should.

"He would've bled out," Rick states evenly. "If he lived that long."

"It's gotten bad in town," Glenn adds quietly.

"What do we do with him?" Andrea questions.

"I repaired his calf muscle as best I can, but he'll probably have nerve damage," Hershel announces, entering the room and standing beside Rick. "Won't be on his feet for at least a week."

"When he is, we give him a canteen, take him out to the main road, send him on his way," Rick says simply.

"Rick!" I snap, whirling to stare down the Sheriff at the head of the table. "This guy  _ shot _ at us. His  _ friends _ were cop killers, and..." I trail off, remembering the way Tony's eyes had roamed my body. "We put our lives on the line, you, Rick,  _ you _ put us all at risk to save that  _ kid. _ He's old enough to know the difference between right and wrong. We should've shot him, left 'im there. You  _ saw _ the kind of men he was with!"

I choke on the last sentence, voice breaking, hot tears sliding down my face. I angrily claw them away, falling silent. I know it's silly, I know nothing happened, but the threat was enough. Probably doesn't help I haven't slept.

"One of the guys at the bar last night said he was gonna  _ 'nail our…' _ " Glenn trails off, eyeing Hershel warily.

" _ Bitch, _ " I supply, silently daring Hershel to reprimand me for cussing in the house.

"Yeah," Glenn says softly, understanding dawning upon him as to why I might be just a tad upset.

The group falls silent, gazes fixed on me. I don't want them to look at me like this. Like a victim. I turn away, glancing at the doorway, half a mind to just leave until I see Daryl leaned up against the door frame, his hard, steely eyes also fixed upon my face. I didn't hear him come in. I'm filled with shame, hoping he hadn't heard all of my outburst but knowing from the look on his face he had. I don't want him to look at me, either. Not like that, not with pity.

"We just gonna let him go?" Shane questions, breaking the silence. "He knows where we are."

"He was blindfolded the whole way here, he's not a threat," Rick assures him.

"Not a threat?" Shane asks indignantly. "How many of 'em were there? You killed three of their men, you took one of 'em hostage, but they just ain't gonna come lookin'?

"They left him for dead," Rick fires back. " _ No one _ is looking."

"We should still post a guard," T says, eyeing me nervously.

"He's out cold right now, will be for hours," Hershel informs us.

"You know what?" Shane asks sarcastically. "I'm gonna go get him some flowers and candy," he scoffs, striding from the room. "Look at this, folks. We back in fantasy land!"

The arguing is too much. I can feel the crushing weight on my chest, my lungs becoming anchors, not enough air in this room to fill them. Not again. Please. I shove past Daryl, fleeing the house as my breath becomes ragged. I'm having a panic attack, and the only thing I can focus on is getting the fuck away from the noise and all those eyes. I tear across the field into the treeline, collapsing to the ground once I'm hidden from view. Only then do I let go, allowing the terror to consume me from the inside out.

*Daryl's POV*

Guilt is gnawing at my insides and this time I can't push it down. If I'd gone after Rick like Lori'd asked, I could have been there. Ripped the sumbitch's eyes out for lookin' at Adrienne wrong. I should have been there. She's looking real bad, she has this far away look in her eyes. Shane and Hershel are goin' at it when she runs. Bolts out the door, and I watch from the window as she hurtles into the woods, disappearing. Rick's still trying to appease the group's worries about this Randall douchebag, telling us we're not makin' a decision today. Seems to be a lot of mixed feelings on the subject, the group fracturing and heading their separate ways. Carol makes like she's gonna follow me, but after the way I treated her last night I just can't face her. Pretty much told her it was her fault Sophia's dead. Tore into her somethin' awful. I turn away from her, intent on heading to my little camp I'd set up separate from the rest.

But that ain’t where my feet take me. I find myself following Adrienne's path into the trees. I spot her pretty quick, her hair making her difficult to miss. She hadn't gone too far, just far enough to provide her with some cover. It feels invasive, watching her like this. She'd clearly come here to be alone, but something's wrong with her. She's on the ground, hugging her knees to her chest, staring unseeingly into the foliage before her, tears pouring from her eyes. Panic attack. Merle used to get 'em when I's little. I can't remember all of what you're supposed to do, I was just a kid at the time, but I remember enough not to touch her. I sink slowly to the ground across from her. If she knows I'm here, she don't react. I don't know what to do. So I just sit with her. I just decide to let it take its course. I don't know why I stay, except that I can't stand the thought of her out here on her own. So I stay.

*Adrienne's POV*

I don't know how long I'm gone. Maybe hours. Hell of a time to have this shit start up again, what with the dead being risen and all. Just part of the neverending joke that has been my life. I come back to myself eventually, though, slowly becoming aware of my surroundings again. I try to remember my senses. What I can smell. Feel. My throat is sore and raw, and my body feels heavy with exhaustion. There's a dull ache in my chest. I can hear crickets. Always the crickets, no matter the time of day. And something else. A sort of scraping. I zero in on the noise, sweeping the area for the source, my gaze settling on Daryl, fashioning a makeshift arrow, the sound being his knife against the stick in his hand. Son of a bitch, has he been here the whole time?

"Hey," I croak hoarsely.

He says nothing. Because of course he doesn't. Just eyes me cautiously.

"Did, uh… did you see…" I trail off, not sure what to even call the episode I'd just had.

"Mhmm," he nods, hands still working on his arrow.

"I'm sorry," I mumble, looking away.

"Didn't do nothin' wrong," he scoffs.

I glance over at him. His hands have stopped moving, his eyes clouding with worry as he watches my face.

"Seen this kinda shit go down before," he says softly.

I nod, looking off into the trees, unsure how to respond to this...  _ infuriatingly _ mercurial man. I don't wanna let my guard back down just yet. Always seems to be when I least expect it that his mood shifts on me, concern turning into disdain in a fraction of a second.

"He touch you?" He blurts suddenly, eyes boring into mine as my gaze meets his.

"Randall?" I question, and he nods, chewing his lip. 

"Any of 'em," he clarifies, looking at the ground.

"Hell, no," I assure him. "No. There was a man at the bar last night…"

Daryl bristles at this, and I quickly finish.

"He just… he just was lookin' at me, made a comment, threatened me," I breathe. "I shot him. Him and this other asshole, they wanted us to tell 'em where we stay, drew on us when we wouldn't. We didn't have a choice."

He's watching me with a look of compassion I've never seen on his face before, like he's sorry I had to do something like that, but the thing is...

"I don't regret it," I admit.

"Why would you?" He demands. "Sounds like the world's better off without 'em."

"How long have we been out here?" I question.

"Coupla hours."

"What's Rick decided to do with the kid?"

"We ain't doin' nothin' tonight," he assures me. "Hershel says he ain't even gon' be able to walk for a week."

"I wanted to put him down. Leave him up on that fence post."

His eyes snap up to meet mine.

"Does that make me a bad person?" I whisper, afraid of the answer.

"Nah," he says, holding my gaze. "Nah, if anythin', that's more humane. Put 'im outta his misery, protect the group," he shrugs like it's the simplest thing in the world. "You ain't bad, Adrienne."

"Sometimes I feel bad," I mutter, silent tears slipping from my eyes and landing in the dirt. "Like maybe I don't regret the things we have to do to survive in this world 'cause I… 'cause I'm broken in some way. I think I'm goin' crazy."

"Hey," he says, mildly alarmed. "You ain't broken. You  _ ain't. _ And you ain't crazy, neither. We all got shit. Whatever happened  _ happened, _ " he gets to his feet, taking my hand in his and pulling me upright. "Gotta make your peace with it," he says softly. "If you wanna survive."

I nod, wiping the tears from my face and smiling at him gratefully. He slings his bow over his shoulder and looks at me expectantly.

"Feel like you can go back?" He asks, and I nod even though I'm not sure I want to go back yet or ever. 

I think I see his hand twitch towards mine, but I blink and his hand is nowhere near me. I must have imagined it. Truthfully, I  _ don't _ want to go back just yet, because I know once we're no longer invisible, the moment we emerge from the trees, any modicum of comfort he feels around me will disappear completely. He's guarded. Always careful. But there are times like this one, times where he drops his guard just a little. Allows himself just a few fleeting moments of vulnerability. And, heaven help me, these are the moments I live for. These brief moments he allows me to peek through the cracks in his shell to catch a glimpse of the parts of him he guards so jealously.

I follow him back to his camp, perching myself atop the large piece of driftwood he'd placed beside his fire pit. It's silent, but it's comfortable. I don't feel the need to make small talk or entertain or be funny or pretty or smart or anything at all when I'm with Daryl. I can just  _ exist. _ Occupy the same space without any expectations. It's nice. He takes a seat beside me, quietly fashioning an arrow from a thin piece of pine.

"I'm sorry," I murmur, meeting his quizzical gaze as he glances up at me. "For what happened with Sophia."

He's silent, squinting at me like he's not sure what the hell to think.

"You did more to find her than anybody else and I know… I know findin' her, bringin' her back meant somethin' to you," I tell him quietly.

He just nods, dragging the back of his hand roughly across his eyes. He doesn't want to talk about it, I know. But I think he needs to hear someone else talk about her. This whole thing with Randall... it seems everyone's moved on to our newest problem, no one's talking about Sophia anymore. Mourning her. No, we're busy trying to deal with the next thing. Just like with Amy and Jim and Jacqui. And Merle.

"That mornin' we left the old folks home, she…" I trail off, chuckling softly. "She was all excited, she'd been lookin' in Dale's books, and she found the third Harry Potter."

He's watching me now, listening intently, hands no longer busy sculpting arrows.

"The only one he has, outta the whole damn series," I continue, smiling despite the tears threatening to spill over. "You or Merle ever read 'em? Harry Potter?"

"No," he murmurs, chewing his lip and shaking his head. "Saw one of the movies on TV once, though."

"At the CDC, that night everything felt like… like it was finally gonna be okay, like…" I trail off, waving my hand vaguely for lack of words. "Well, anyway, I started readin' her 'n Carl the first one. I promised her we'd finish and we… we just didn't get the chance. And then she found that book in Dale's things and she was… she was so excited, made me pinky swear I'd read it to her 'n Carl soon as we got to Fort Benning. And she goes…  _ but you have to do the voice, Adie. _ "

"The voice?" He questions, squinting in confusion.

"Oh," I blush self consciously. "Well, Harry Potter, he's English, right? So I… I read it like…" I trail off, chuckling. "Have a biscuit, Potter," I chirp with as posh a British accent as I can muster.

It's truly terrible, but I committed to it with gusto. Daryl lets out an almost startled sounding laugh, and it's one of the most wonderful sounds I've ever heard. I wish he'd laugh more. I grin at him, content in spite of the ache in my chest.

"You ain't slept at all?" He questions abruptly, growing concerned as I shake my head and stifle a yawn. "You need to."

He's right. The exhaustion is catching up with me. I nod and get to my feet.

"Thanks," I tell him softly, his eyes flicking to mine.

"For what?"

"Stayin' with me," I shrug. "Lettin' me stay with you."

He dips his head, hands once again working at the half done arrow in his grasp.

"Night, Daryl," I murmur, forgetting it can't even be noon yet.

He stiffens, his fingers frozen in place, blade going still in his hand. I turn away, starting my way back to camp.

"G'night," he mutters, so softly I almost think I made it up.

I glance over my shoulder, flashing him a smile when I see that he's watching me leave. I practically float back to the others, most of whom are gathered around the fire pit for lunch.

"Woah," Andrea blurts, eyeing me as I pass. "What's got you all smilin' happy?"

"Nothin'," I chuckle. "Just over tired, I guess."

"Mhmm," T-Dog scoffs, rolling his eyes indulgently.

"Hershel wanted one of us to tell you the shower in the main bathroom's yours, if you want it," Rick informs me.

I glance down at my bloody clothes. I'm sure I smell, too. I put off sleep in the name of hygiene, taking the world's quickest shower, and then I'm fucking  _ spent. _ I return to camp, duck into my tent, and collapse in a nice, clean heap atop my sleeping bag, slipping into a deep, dreamless sleep almost the instant I shut my eyes, waking only for a few brief moments when T enters the tent and hunkers down beside me.

"You missed dinner," he announces.

"I'll make up for it at breakfast."

"How was your little afternoon rendezvous with your boyfriend?"

"Shh," I murmur. "I'm sleepin'. 'N he's not my boyfriend."

" _ Yet, _ " he chuckles, quiet laughter turning into an outright chortle when I kick him in the shin.


	22. You Think It'll Make a Difference?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: suicidal themes

**Chapter 22**

It's been a week. It's time. Shane and Rick have taken Randall out, the plan ultimately being to leave him on his own, being that he's a threat. I think it's the wrong choice, letting him go. I still think we should have left him for the walkers. Shot him clean, in the head. I find myself being put to work in the kitchen, and I'm not pleased. I can't cook. I can barely even slice vegetables, yet here I am, armed with a paring knife, several cucumbers, and a tomato. Lori and Maggie are quicker than I am, and much more precise, their neat, uniform slices a stark contrast to the haphazard chunks of produce I've managed to mangle despite my very best efforts.

"Rick say anything to you about Glenn when they got back from town?" Maggie blurts.

"Just that it had gotten pretty bad," Lori tells her.

"He's not the same," Maggie sighs. "Says he froze. Blames me. Says I got inside his head."

"He came back," Lori points out. "That's what matters. Men have to do certain things, you know that. And they're either gonna blame the little woman as the reason they do 'em or the reason they don't," she continues, moving about the kitchen. "I'll tell you somethin', what happens out there happens out there. And we… we're just tryin' to keep it together til they get back."

"Things were good, maybe I-"

"Glenn's just scared, Maggie," I cut her off, abandoning the cucumbers. "Listen, I know that little shit like the back of my hand. He's logical to a  _ fault, _ even now, livin' in a world that just doesn't make sense anymore. Tellin' him how you feel... he just doesn't know how to believe it yet. Give him some time."

"Yeah, but-"

"Glenn's a big boy," Lori interrupts. "He makes his own choices, and then you… do you have anything to apologize for?"

Maggie shakes her head adamantly. I can see it in her eyes, she's being nothing but honest. Her feelings for Glenn are sincere.

"Tell him to man up and pull himself together," Lori says, nibbling on a cucumber slice so poorly cut she doesn't want it to leave the kitchen.

"Don't actually say  _ 'man up' _ though," I advise.

"Yeah, I guess that never does go well," Lori agrees with a grin, the three of us laughing together.

"Let me just get this to Beth," Maggie says, going for the tray we'd put together for her sister.

"You go on," Lori waves her away, taking the tray from the counter. "We'll get this."

I nod and Lori and I head up the stairs to Beth's room. Beth has been in a state since what happened at the barn. Understandably. She can't be more than sixteen years old and we'd just killed her mother in front of her. She won't leave her bed, but she's at least responsive now.

"Knock knock," Lori chirps as we step into the room.

Beth turns over, sitting up as Lori places the tray carrying her meal onto the nightstand beside her bed. I haven't really spoken much with the girl and I get the sense I'm invading her space.

"How 'bout this," Lori starts. "You, uh, you eat up all your food, we'll get you up and outta here and go take a walk, what do you say? It'll do good to be outside."

"You're pregnant," Beth says flatly, staring at her bedspread. "How could you do that?"

"Uh, I don't really have a choice," Lori huffs, the question blindsiding her.

"You think it'll make a difference?" Beth asks bluntly, still not looking at either of us.

"Of course it will," Lori insists. "You eat somethin'."

Lori leaves the room, but something in the blank disposition of the girl makes me stay behind for a moment. It takes a second to put my finger on it, but then I realize... the flat tone, the numbness. I'm seeing the ghost of myself in the grieving daughter in front of me.

"Hey," I murmur softly. "I know I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I… I do understand what you're goin' through, Beth. It's not gonna feel like this forever."

She meets my eyes briefly but says nothing. After a moment, I leave her be, heading down to the kitchen to help Lori clean up. After we've washed the dishes and wiped down the counters, she and I head back up to check on Beth.

"Couldn't eat a thing, huh?" Lori questions, looking at the untouched tray. "You're gonna-"

"Lori," I stop her softly, her gaze following mine to the crying girl on the bed.

"Hey," Lori says quietly, crouching down beside Beth. "I know how hard it is. I tried for days to reach my mom, get her on the phone. I can only assume-"

"It's just so  _ pointless, _ " Beth interrupts.

"Oh…" Lori sighs. "You have  _ Maggie. _ And your father and, and Patricia and Jimmy. And you gotta stay strong for them. I wish I could promise you it would be all right in the end. I can't. But we can make now alright. And we have to."

"Thank you," Beth says softly, eyeing the woman in front of her.

"I'll be right back, we'll go take that walk," Lori smiles, grabbing the tray as she and I step out.

We're back in the kitchen, Lori dismantling the tray while I stand by with a sponge. I'm not a cook, but damn if I'm not one hell of a scrubber. Then I notice it.

"Lori, the knife!" I hiss, realizing it's missing from the tray, whirling around and hurtling up the stairs into Beth's room.

"Beth?" Lori questions, checking the nightstand and floor for the blade.

Beth is curled up in her bed, not acknowledging her.

"Beth, give it to me," I command gently. "This isn't what you want, I promise you that."

She hesitates, then pulls the knife out from beneath the covers, handing it to me wordlessly. Lori takes the knife, her horror-stricken eyes meeting mine as we step into the hallway.

"Get Maggie," I murmur. "Or Hershel. I'll stay with her."

I duck back into the room and take a seat. I watch her and it's like stepping back in time. I remember the nothingness, the searching for a reason to keep going and coming up empty over and over again in my head before making my decision. My heart aches for Beth. I truly understand what she's going through, and I'd do anything to shelter her from that pain. She's just a kid. I stay with her until Maggie storms in, raging. I slip down the stairs and into the kitchen, the sisters' raised voices echoing through the house as they argue. I'd always wanted to have a sister before. Someone I could talk to, who would always be there even when things were hard.

"Thought I'd leave 'em to it," I tell Lori and Andrea, taking a seat at the island while the three of us listen to the battle raging just over our heads.

"Where's Hershel?" Andrea questions.

"He doesn't wanna find out yet," Lori answers. "It's a family affair, we'll let them work it out."

"That's working it out?" Andrea asks dubiously.

"The fightin' is good," I point out, scratching absently at my scar. "Means Beth hasn't made up her mind."

"This could've been handled better," Andrea murmurs.

"How so?" Lori questions.

"You shouldn't have taken the knife away," Andrea tells me, eyes boring into mine accusingly.

"Well, excuse the fuck outta me," I shoot back. "Clearly, the best course of action here was to let her slice herself up. My bad. I'll do better next time, coach."

"You were  _ wrong, _ " she continues, unfazed. "Like Dale taking my gun. That wasn't your decision. She has to choose to live on her own. She has to find her own reasons."

"Don't you dare make this about you," I spit, glaring at her.

"What, should we tie a noose for her?" Lori asks derisively.

"If she's serious, she'll figure out a way," Andrea presses.

"Like you did?" I question, eyeing her pointedly.

"Regardless, it doesn't mean we can't stop her or let her know that we care," Lori points out.

"That has nothing to do with it, Lori!" Andrea insists. "She only has so many choices in front of her, and she believes the best one is suicide."

"Let me ask you somethin','' I say, rising from my chair and crossing to Andrea, feeling a small pang of vindictive satisfaction when she flinches. "Did you see suicide as an option before or after Jenner suggested it?"

She's momentarily silenced, and that in itself is the answer I'd known it would be. Suicide hadn't crossed her mind, not really, not until Jenner offered her a painless alternative.

"This isn't about you," I repeat, returning to my seat.

"She doesn't need to be yelled at or treated like a child," Andrea says sullenly.

"She  _ is _ a child," I snap.

"She needs a loaded gun, right?" Lori asks sarcastically. "You'll understand if I don't send you in there."

"I came through it!" Andrea protests.

"And became such a productive member of the group!" Lori says snidely, and it's all I can do not to cheer. "Let Maggie handle this her way."

"I contribute!" Andrea proclaims, stricken. "I help keep this place safe."

"Keep this place safe?" I repeat indignantly. "You damn near  _ killed _ Daryl!"

"I'm sorry, what would you have me do?" Andrea questions.

"Oh, there's plenty of work to go around," Lori announces.

"Are you serious?" Andrea barks, stepping towards Lori. "Everything falls apart and you're in my face over skipping  _ laundry? _ "

"It puts a burden on the rest of us," Lori says bluntly. "On me, Adie, Carol, and Patricia and Maggie… Cookin' and cleanin' and carin' for Beth and you… you don't care about anyone but yourself. You sit up on that RV, workin' on your tan with a shotgun in your lap."

"No, I am on  _ watch _ against  _ walkers, _ " Andrea spits, affronted. " _ That _ is what matters. Not fresh mint leaves in the lemonade."

"Oh, my god," I groan. "Listen to yourself, Andrea! You can't claim to be contributin' when the  _ only _ thing you do is keep watch. This isn't about gender roles, it's about pullin' your weight. I've taken down walkers and so has Lori, so If you wanna use target practice as a, as a soapbox against  _ sexism, _ you'd better start gettin' your hands dirty. Grab yourself a hatchet and chop wood for the fire, go out and hunt, scout, do all the shit  _ 'the men' _ do! Not just the shit you think is  _ fun. _ How old are you?"

I can't take one more goddamn second of her shit, storming from the kitchen. I make my way to the porch, pacing angrily back and forth while both arguments rage on inside the house.


	23. You Ain't a Peach All the Time, Neither

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of suicide/past suicide attempt, suicide attempt

**Chapter 23**

"You all right?" Daryl drawls.

I jump, not having noticed the man sitting on the edge of the deck just a few feet from me. I cross the porch and drop down beside him.

"Beth thinks she wants to die," I sigh, rubbing my temples. "Snuck a knife from her lunch tray and hid it in her bed. She and Maggie are havin' it out upstairs, Andrea and Lori are screamin' at each other in the kitchen... it's a mess."

"Why are Lori and Andrea fightin'?"

"Andrea thinks we should've let her keep the knife," I scoff. "That's how it started, anyway. Now they're bitchin' back and forth about the division of labor."

"Mm," Daryl grunts in acknowledgement, eyes on the road.

"Shouldn't Rick and Shane've been back by now?" I question, guessing at his thoughts.

"Yeah," he mutters, his eyes narrowing. "Somethin' must be holdin' 'em up."

"I used to think it'd be better," I blurt. "Dyin'. Not that it's some big secret around here anymore."

"You don't now?"

I think about it for a second.

"I don't now, no," I shake my head. "Not really, but before when my…" I trail off, swallowing against the lump in my throat. "When my mama died, I couldn't, uh… couldn't deal with it."

I chance a glance at Daryl. He's watching my face, listening intently. I look down at my hands and continue.

"I survived, though, you know, obviously, but... but I wasn't really livin'. Just breathin'," I laugh softly, a thought occurring to me. "It's funny. Now the dead don't stay dead, everything's just fallin' apart for everyone else… and  _ this _ is when I find purpose?"

It's ludicrous and really not funny at all, but to my surprise and delight, Daryl lets out a low chuckle at the absurd timing of my sudden spiritual awakening. His eyes meet mine, his expression warm and almost open. My blood is suddenly on fire and even though this isn't exactly romantic conversation, all I can think about is what his lips might feel like on mine and I can't help myself. I lean in, but before I can close the space between us, the screen door flies open. Maggie steps out onto the porch, curious gaze landing on us, and the moment is gone. Daryl scoots away from me, his face turning stony and unreadable.

Damn it.

"How is she?" I ask Maggie, rising to my feet.

"Not good," she sighs heavily. "I needed some air. Andrea's with her."

My blood turns to ice in my veins. God damn it. I sprint into the house, hurtling up the stairs and into Beth's empty room, Maggie on my heels.

"Beth?" She calls, taking in the empty bed, crossing to the en suite. "Beth?"

We can hear her in there, sobbing, but she's not answering and before Maggie or I can say or do anything else, something shatters inside the bathroom.

"Beth!" Maggie cries, pounding on the door.

"Maggie?" Lori questions, bursting frantically into the room.

"She's in there, we heard glass!" Maggie tells her, continuing to pound on the door.

"Maggie, where's a key?" I demand.

"I don't know!" She replies, searching the vanity while Beth continues to cry, sobs echoing behind the closed door.

"Andrea," I explain to Lori, whose face hardens as she whirls around to find something, anything we can use to get that door open.

"Lori!" I point out a fire iron propped in the corner of the room.

She snatches it, moving purposefully towards the bathroom door.

"Look out, Maggie," I murmur, gently pulling her away from the door.

Lori wedges the fire iron between the door and the frame, using it as leverage to break the lock. Beth is standing in front of a broken mirror. She wheels around as the door flies open, blood oozing from her wrist.

"I'm sorry," she weeps.

"Okay, it's okay!" Maggie pulls her sister close, tears escaping down her cheeks as she walks her from the room.

Lori and I look at each other.

"I'm gonna kill her," I hiss, stalking from the room to find the bitch and tear her a new asshole.

The moment we've safely delivered Beth to Hershel for stitches, Maggie, Lori, and I head outside. We're just stepping onto the porch -which is, disappointingly, Daryl free- when Andrea comes flying across the yard towards us.

"Where were you?" Maggie demands as Andrea pulls up just short of the porch stairs.

"I heard," she says breathlessly. "Is she alright?"

"She would be if you had stayed with her," Maggie spits angrily. "Where were you?"

"How bad is she?" Andrea questions.

"It wasn't deep," Lori says coldly.

"She wants to live," Andrea says, smiling with relief. "She's made her decision."

"She's not a fuckin' lab rat!" I explode. "What the hell's wrong with you? She's just a kid!"

"You know, do you ever get tired of sitting on your high horse?" She snarks. "She needed a choice, I gave that to her."

"Oh, my god," I scoff in disbelief, marching down to join her at the bottom of the stairs. "This was all just some  _ experiment _ to you? It's the second time you've risked somebody's life to prove a goddamn  _ point, _ Andrea! You put anybody else in danger again, I swear to god, I'll kill you myself."

"Are you actually threatening me?" She asks incredulously.

"It's not a threat, I promise you, if it comes down to it, I  _ will _ put a bullet in your brain," I breathe, venom dripping from every syllable. "You're all about protectin' the group, right? Yeah. As long as it's on your terms. Well, these are my terms. You put anybody,  _ anybody,  _ else at risk again… I'll do what I have to do to protect 'em, even if it means puttin' you down, and it won't just be a graze, either. I won't miss."

She scoffs, but she can't hide the fear in her eyes as she shoves past me, headed inside to see Beth only to be blocked by Maggie.

"Stay away from her," she snarls. "From both of us. And don't you dare step foot inside this house again."

Defeated, Andrea finally backs down, turning from the house and sulking her way back towards the RV. But even Dale can't absolve her of something like this. Lori, Maggie, and I head inside, the other two women beelining for the kitchen, Lori murmuring softly, trying to console Maggie. I go straight to Beth. She's sitting in silence with Hershel, who, presumably, will be remaining at her side until she proves not to be a risk to herself.

"Hey," I murmur quietly. "Can I come in?"

Beth nods, her tearstained face cast downward. Hershel's eyes remain on his daughter, his silence stony. Religion and suicide… they don't mix too well. Murder is murder, even if you're just murdering your pain. I cross the room, taking a seat at the end of Beth's bed.

"I wanted to tell you some things, if that's okay," I start, continuing when she doesn't protest. "I know everyone's gonna wanna tell you all kinds of sh-" I catch myself before cussing. "Stuff. Try to tell you how what you're feelin' is temporary, it gets better, the whole nine, and it's  _ true,  _ but… but right now, you're not ready to hear that," I sigh, rolling up my left sleeve. "I came to show you this."

I outstretch my arm and her eyes go wide as she takes in the long, gnarled scar.

"Is that… did you…" she stammers, and I silence her with a nod.

"I lost my mom, too," I announce. "Before all this. Just an accident, drunk driver," I swallow, a hard lump painful in my throat, tears pricking my eyes. "I couldn't handle it. I didn't think I had a reason to keep goin', no purpose. Nothin' meant anything anymore. It felt  _ pointless. _ "

She meets my eyes as I echo her words from earlier and I hold her gaze.

"How'd you get through it?" She whispers.

"I don't really know," I tell her truthfully. "Made a whole lot of mistakes, mostly. Did a lotta things I… I regret doin'. I miss her  _ every day. _ That's never gonna go away. But… but it won't always feel like this, Beth. I wish I had a step by step I could give you, but I don't and I won't sit here pretendin' I know what you need. Only you know that, you just gotta figure out what it is and how to find it in this world. I found it in those people outside. In T-Dog and Carl, and Daryl and Glenn… all of 'em. They're my  _ reason. _ I don't wanna lie to you, choosin' to live now? It's  _ hard. _ It won't be easy, not all the time. It used to be we could just… just lay down and cry 'til things felt better, but we don't get to do that anymore. We just don't," I roll my sleeve back down, rising from the bed. "I won't keep you. I just wanted you to know you're not alone, no matter how lonely it feels sometimes. You're not."

"Thank you," Beth whispers tearily, offering me just the smallest ghost of a smile.

I dip my head and turn to leave the room, but before I can go Hershel grabs my hand, tears welling in his own eyes. He nods, squeezing tight. I squeeze back, smiling sadly. The doctor and I might not ever be best friends, but this meant something to him. I step into the hallway, bumping directly into Daryl. Shit, did he hear all that?

"They're back," he mutters, avoiding my eyes.

I can tell in his tone, the way he won't look at me, he heard every word I just said. I stay quiet, waiting, not sure if he has a point or if he's just letting me know.

"All of 'em," he clarifies.

What the hell? I follow him down the stairs and, sure enough, Rick and Shane are back.  _ With _ Randall.

"Are you shittin' me?" I hiss, marching across the yard to confront Rick.

Evidently, our boy Randall knows Maggie. They'd driven out nearly twenty miles, blindfolded him, plugged a pair of blasting earbuds into his skull, taken every damn precaution they could think of. But it didn't fucking matter in the end because this kid just  _ happens _ to be local. The way I see it, we have to put him down. It's too big a risk. If he escapes, he can run right back to his group of scumbags, lead 'em right to us. But I'm overruled. We're locking him in the shed, Adrienne. We need to talk it over, Adrienne. Be rational, Adrienne. Fucking  _ rational! _ I go to bed absolutely livid, sleeping fitfully and waking the next day in just as foul a mood.

*Daryl's POV*

I ain't gonna wait on Saint Rick to figure out what we need to do with Randall. Seems pretty damn simple. We find out what he knows, who his group is,  _ where _ his group is. Find out who we're dealing with and how many before deciding whether to let him go or just put him out of his misery. Beat it outta him if we have to. So that's what I'm doin'. Let the others pow wow over breakfast, I'll find out who the hell this kid rolls with.

"I told you!" Randall spits, reeling after the several punches I'd just laid on his face.

"You ain't told me shit!" I snarl, lunging at the kid, yanking him roughly to his feet and slamming him against the wall.

"I barely knew those guys!" He insists, sinking back to the floor. "I met 'em on the road."

"How many in your group?" I demand.

The kid hems and haws for a moment, but he ain't gonna talk. Dumbass. I pull my knife from its sheath. That seems to get his attention.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no!" He whines. "C'mon, man!"

"How many?!" I roar, kneeling on one knee in front of him, stabbing my knife into the loose fabric of his jeans, slicing away at the denim to reveal his wound.

"Uh, Thirty!" He cries. "Thirty, thirty guys!"

"Where?"

"Uh…"

Unbelievable. I tear the bandage off his wound, the tip of my blade poised over his stitches. He cries out in pain, but he still ain't talking. I dig my knife into the cut, just enough to get my point across. I will slice him back open.

"I don't know, I swear!" He insists. "We were never anyplace more than a night!"

"Scoutin'?" I question calmly. "Plannin' on stayin' local?"

"Uh… I, I don't know," he breathes. "They, they left me behind."

"Did you ever pick off a scab?" I threaten, ignoring his pleas. "Start  _ real  _ slow at first. Sooner or later, you just gotta rip it off."

"Okay!" The kid howls, finally getting the fucking message. "Okay. They, they, they have weapons. Heavy stuff, automatics. But, but I didn't do anything!"

"Your boys shot at my boys, my girl!"

_ My girl? _ Christ. What a fucking cliche. Can't backtrack now, though.

"Tried to take this farm. You just went along for the ride? You tryin' to tell me you're  _ innocent? _ " 

"Yes!" He cries. "These, these, these people took me in. Not just guys, uh, a whole group of 'em. Men  _ and _ women, uh, kids, too. Just like you people. Thought I'd have a better chance with them, you know? But…"

He trails off and I ease up. I back off of him, standing. I keep my knife firmly in hand, though, a silent threat. Motivation, keep him singing.

"We go out, scavenge," he continues. "Just the men. One night, we… we found this little campsite. A man and his two daughters. Teenagers, you know? Real young. Real cute."

He stops for a moment and my blood runs cold. These ain't men he's with. These are monsters. And he's one of 'em.

"Their daddy had to watch while these guys, they… and they didn't even kill 'im afterwards!"

He's indignant, putting on quite the show.

"They just… they just made 'im watch as his daughters… they just, just, just left him there."

I'm gonna beat the shit outta this little prick. Again.

"No, but, but, but I didn't touch those girls!" He cries as I rear back. "I swear, I didn't-"

He don't get to finish. My boot lands on his gut and he curls in on himself.

"Please!" He begs. "Please. You gotta believe me, man. I'm not like that. I ain't like that… please, please. You gotta believe me."

I don't. I can see it in his eyes. He's one of 'em I kick him again. Again. And again... 

*Adrienne's POV*

"So what'cha gonna do?" Lori asks. "We'd all feel better if we knew the plan."

We're all gathered around the fire, being rational. Talking things over. Casually discussing murder over breakfast, with the exception of Daryl, who disappeared inside the shed a little bit ago and has yet to return.

"Is there a plan?" Andrea demands.

"We gonna keep him here?" Glenn adds.

"No, we're not gonna keep 'im here," I hiss.

"We'll know soon enough," Rick tells us, eyeing Daryl as he approaches.

"Your boy there's got a gang," Daryl informs us, joining the group, standing at my side. "Thirty men. Got heavy artillery n' they ain't lookin' to make friends."

I throw my hands up in an  _ 'I fucking told you so'  _ sort of gesture, glaring at Rick.

"They roll through here, our boys are dead. And our women, they're gonna… they're gonna wish they were," Daryl announces, eyes flickering to mine, a chill running through my body as his words sink in.

"What'd you do?" Carol asks him, eyeing the blood on his knuckles.

"We had a little chat," he says, dropping his hand to his side and walking away.

*Daryl's POV*

"Did it hurt to punch the guy?"

Damn it, don't Lori ever watch this kid? Carl's striding towards me. I thought I wouldn't be bothered on this side of the property, but I guess not.

"I been hurt worse," I mutter. "You, too, buddy."

I ain't any good with kids his age, but after being such a dick to Sophia that night at the senior center… I'm trying to be a little more patient.

"Can you teach me how to shoot that?" He questions, pointing at my crossbow laying beside me.

"Your arm ain't long enough," I point out, hoping he'll leave me be.

My patience only extends so far.

"Yeah it is!" He insists, stretching his arm out to show me. It ain't.

"Stick to guns," I scoff. "Takes less skill. Where's your ol' man? Why don't you go pester him?"

I get to my feet, turning to leave the boy, but Carol's here, now, too. Carl runs off, and I do feel a little guilty. Kid's just bored, don't got anyone else to hang out with, with Adrienne and everyone busy arguing.

"Did you get what you wanted?" Carol demands, handing me a rag that reeks of rubbing alcohol. "Approval? Thanks?"

Man, I ain't about to start this shit with her again. It ain't about thanks. It's about doing the shit that's gotta be done when it needs doing. Adrienne gets that. She don't seem to enjoy these endless moral debates we've been having lately, neither.

"Couldn't hit me, so you beat up a kid," Carol continues snottily. "Is that who you are, now?"

It ain't about her and she knows it.

"He ain't no kid," I mutter, wiping the blood from my knuckles. "Do a lot worse than hittin' you if you gave 'im a chance."

"That's not what this is about," she sighs. "You know it."

"What do you want me to do?" I demand. "Huh? I don't need this."

I start to walk away, but she ain't done.

"Don't pretend like you don't care," she snaps. "You want your friendship back? Take it. Every kind and smart thing you said? Take it all back, I don't care. I've lost worse. But don't sit back here and tend to your  _ bloody fists...  _ and pretend you don't care."

She stalks off, evidently having said her piece. She don't know me. Friendship. I ain't never needed that shit before, and if a friend is just someone to project your own shit onto, I sure as hell don't need it now. It ain't about approval. Not consciously, at least. It's about keeping these people safe. I failed Sophia, I ain't gonna fail nobody again. I snatch my crossbow up from the ground and head back to my camp. I don't need Carol telling me who she thinks I am. If she thinks that shit, maybe they all do. I don't need this.

*Adrienne's POV*

"No one goes near this guy," Rick orders.

"Rick, what are you gonna do?" Lori asks, striding towards her husband.

"We have no choice," Rick sighs. "He's a threat. We have to eliminate the threat."

"You're just gonna kill him?" Dale asks indignantly.

"It's settled," Rick announces. "I'll do it today."

He huffs away and Dale runs after him, presumably to argue over the fate of Randall.

"We should've left him on that fence," I sigh.

After a little bit of thumb twiddling and agitation at my inability to find  _ something to do, _ I find myself marching towards Daryl's camp. He spots me coming. The man is impossible to sneak up on. Not that I was trying, but still.

"Hey."

He answers with his customary grunt, organizing his plethora of handmade arrows. 

"You okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" He demands.

"Just… your hands, are you hurt?" I question, eyeing his knuckles.

He's wiped some of the blood away, but it still looks painful. He'd hit Randall hard enough to split the skin on his own knuckles. 

"I'm fine."

"Then I guess I'm just over here to make up shitty excuses for bein' over here," I admit.

He eyes me distrustfully.

"What you want from me, girl?" He demands, his voice accusatory. "Ain't you got someplace to be?"

"I can't come out here just to talk?" I fire back.

"Ain't nobody interested in just talkin' to me," he scoffs, glaring at me. "What do you want?"

"You caught me," I say dryly. "I'm here to ask you a big,  _ big _ favor. There's this jar, you see? It's stuck. And I, I'd do it myself, but I might break a nail."

"You makin' fun of me, now?" He asks, still glaring.

"No, asshole," I snap. "I'm here because I happen to enjoy your company. When you're not bein' a dick."

"Hm," he huffs, seemingly accepting this answer. "You ain't a peach all the time, neither."

"I know," I grin. "I'm an asshole. So, what else did Randall have to say?"

He opens his mouth to respond, then scoffs, glaring at something over my shoulder. I turn and see Dale ambling his way towards us.

"The whole point of me comin' up here's to get away from you people," Daryl seethes.

"Gonna take more than that," Dale counters.

"Carol send you?" Daryl asks.

"Carol's not the only one that's concerned about you, clearly," Dale says, looking at me pointedly. "Especially with your new role in the group."

"Oh, man, I don't need my head shrunk," Daryl mutters. "This group's broken. I'm better off fendin' for myself."

"You act like you don't care," Dale announces.

"Yeah, that's 'cause I don't," Daryl claims, grabbing his jacket and vest and pulling them on.

"So live or die, you don't care what happens to Randall?" Dale inquires.

"Nope."

"Then why not stand with me, try to save the kid's life, if it really doesn't matter one way or the other?"

"Dale-" I start, but he holds up a hand, silencing me.

"I know where you stand, Adrienne," he rebukes me coldly. "I want to know what Daryl thinks."

"I didn't peg you for a desperate sumbitch," Daryl remarks, snatching up his crossbow.

"Your opinion makes a difference," Dale counters.

"Man, ain't nobody lookin' at me for nothin'," Daryl argues, walking away. I'm not sure if I should follow him or not, but he turns to look at me. "You comin'?"

Well holy shit. I guess I'm following him then. I nod, falling into step beside him.

"Carol is!" Dale insists, not ready to give it up yet. "And I am. Right now."

Daryl stops in his tracks, eyeing Dale suspiciously.

"And you obviously have Rick's ear," the older man continues.

"Rick just looks to Shane!" Daryl corrects. "Let 'im."

He turns back around, heading towards the woods.

"You cared about what happened to Sophia!" Dale points out, and Daryl turns back once more, their conversation turning into an odd game of cat and mouse. "Cared about what it meant to the group," Dale continues. "Torturing people? That isn't you. You're a _decent_ _man._ So is Rick. Shane… he's different."

"Why's that?" Daryl questions. "'Cause he killed Otis?"

I knew someone else had to have picked up on that.

"He tell you that?" Dale asks, stepping closer.

"He told some story," Daryl points out. "How Otis covered 'im, saved his ass. He showed up with a dead guy's gun. Rick ain't stupid. If he didn't figure that out, it's 'cause he didn't wanna. It's like I said, group's broken."

He turns away for the final time, making a beeline for the forest without stopping. I follow silently, turning his words over in my brain.  _ Group's broken. _ And it is. The power struggle between Rick and Shane has fractured us all. One will eventually have to yield to the other, and by the time that happens... by then it might be too late. I'm pulled abruptly from my thoughts when Daryl fires, an arrow winging through the air and pinning a squirrel to a tree.

"What, this too gross for you?" Daryl demands, noticing me staring as he pulls his arrow from the tree, taking the squirrel and attaching it to a rope he slings over his shoulder.

"Actually, I'm impressed," I remark. "Bastards are quick."

"Been doin' it a long time," he shrugs, checking the forest floor for tracks. 

"I know, I've just never seen you do it," I point out.

He seems to accept this, turning his attention back to the forest. I know better than to attempt to engage him in any sort of conversation while he's tracking, so I'm silent. I trail him through the woods, unsure whether he actually wants me with him or if he just didn't have the heart to leave me to deal with Dale's scorn on my own. I know I shouldn't, but I can't help but stare at him.

Merle told me once his little brother was always the prettier one. I think he only said so to make Daryl uncomfortable, but damn if it's not true. He  _ is  _ the prettier one. He's beautiful. He'd probably hate me for thinking that, never mind if I said it out loud. His broad shoulders, that damn Dixon swagger he's got even while heel toe-ing it through the trees. His hair, now starting to look just a bit on the shaggy side, curling around his ears. Those steel blue eyes that catch mine each time he glares over his shoulder to make sure I'm keeping up.

"Ain't nothin' bigger 'n a rabbit come through here recently," he mutters eventually.

It's been a couple hours, maybe even closer to three, and he hasn't had much luck. Squirrels are about all we've come across.

"Walkers must be gettin' to the bigger game," I remark.

"Yeah… you like squirrel?" He questions, side eyeing me as he turns to head back to camp.

"I've never tried it," I answer, feeling somewhat useless.

We fall silent again as we make our way back to his camp. When we get there, he sits down and immediately begins to skin and gut his kills. I now feel totally useless, just watching while he works.

"Can I help you with somethin'?"

"Nah," he mutters. "I got it."

"I could get a fire goin'."

"No point. Sun's almost down, Rick's gon' want us back at the house to take another damn  _ poll. _ "

His brows knit in frustration. I understand. This back and forth bullshit is driving me crazy, too. Randall's no better than the group he rolls with. We didn't leave him and we should have. I should've just shot him myself, but I didn't. I didn't want to deal with the repercussions. I could've handled it, though. That blood on my hands. But we brought him home, we brought him to our people, and now whatever we decide to do… they  _ all _ have to carry it.

"Here," Daryl says abruptly, thrusting a chunk of raw, bloody meat into my hand.

"You don't need to cook it?" I question, eyeing the meat hesitantly.

"Nah, not if you clean 'em proper," he assures me.

Fuck it. I pop the meat chunk into my mouth and chew. The first thing I taste is the sharp, rusty tang of blood. The texture is terrible, but that might just be because it's raw. The flavor is similar to rabbit, I think, just a bit nuttier. Weird. But I guess diet would have an impact on taste, right? I swallow, Daryl watching me expectantly. Nervously, even, like he's afraid I'm gonna spit it on him or something. I don't want to come off as a spoiled bitch, so I take my time thinking of what to tell him.

"I didn't expect it to taste like nuts," I blurt finally, mortified when I realize what I've just said, Daryl's ears flushing crimson.

"They're, uh... they're better in stew," he informs me, looking anywhere but at my face.

"I didn't say it was bad," I point out. "It reminds me a little of rabbit, but it's not like anything I've tasted before."

His demeanor relaxes just enough and I'm flooded with relief, happy to have avoided offending him when he was so obviously vulnerable. He looks at me, a strange expression crossing his face. His eyes focus on my lips. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. I think he's gonna kiss me.

I'm wrong.

"You got blood," he mutters, tapping the corner of his own mouth.

Oh. I wipe my mouth on my sleeve sheepishly. At least he can't read your mind, you dumb bitch. Why the hell would he have been thinking about kissing you? Get your shit together.

"Hey."

Glenn's voice startles me from my thoughts. 

"Rick wants us back at the house," he informs us, turning to head back towards the farmhouse. "We gotta talk about Randall."

"I thought we'd made a decision," I sigh as Daryl rises to standing. "Dale actually get one of us to see things his way?"

I attempt to do the same, but my ankle rolls as I stand and I pitch forward. Before I can fall, Daryl steps in, catching me by the forearms and steadying me. Glenn smirks, looking at Daryl's hands pointedly. Luckily, Daryl has his back to the smug little shit and doesn't see this.

"Thanks," I murmur.

He nods, dropping his hands, and the three of us head back to the house together.


	24. The Price We Pay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: sexual assault, panic attack, flashbacks, sexual abuse, childhood trauma

**Chapter 24**

*Daryl's POV*

"So how do we do this?" Glenn asks once the group is gathered in Hershel's parlor. "Just take a vote?"

"Does it have to be unanimous?" Andrea questions.

"How about majority rules?" Lori suggests.

"Well let's, let's just see where everybody stands, then we can talk through the options," Rick instructs. 

"Well, where I sit, there's only one way to move forward," Shane announces.

"Killing him, right?" Dale questions, glaring around the room. "I mean, why bother to even take a vote? It's clear which way the wind's blowin'."

"Well, if people believe we should spare him, I wanna know," Rick says, looking at each of us in turn.

"Well, I can tell you it's a small group," Dale retorts. "Maybe just me and Glenn."

"Look, I… I think you're pretty much right about everything all the time, but this-" Glenn tries to voice his opinion, but Dale cuts him off.

"They've got you scared!"

"We _should_ be scared," Adrienne points out from her seat in the armchair beside T-Dog, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. "Fear has a function. You fear the snake, you don't get bit."

"He's not one of us!" Glenn adds. "And we've… we've lost too many people already."

"How about you, do you agree with this?" Dale asks Maggie, pleading for anyone to take his side.

"Couldn't we continue keepin' 'im prisoner?" Maggie questions.

"Just another mouth to feed," I point out.

"It may be a lean winter," Hershel reports. 

"We could ration better," Lori suggests.

"Well, he could be an asset!" Dale says adamantly. "Give him a chance to prove himself."

"He proved himself when him and his scumbag buddies unloaded on us when they had _every_ chance to walk away," Adrienne counters.

"What would we even do, put him to work?" Glenn asks, exploring the option.

"We're not lettin' him walk around," Rick argues.

"We could put an escort on him," Maggie suggests.

"Who wants to volunteer for that duty?" Shane asks derisively.

"I will," Dale says.

"I don't think any of us should be walkin' around with this guy," Rick says firmly.

"He's right, I wouldn't feel safe unless he was tied up," Lori agrees.

"We can't exactly put chains around his ankles, sentence him to hard labor," Andrea scoffs.

"Look," Shane begins. "Say we let him join us, right? Maybe, maybe he's helpful. Maybe he's _nice._ We let our guard down and maybe he runs off, brings back his thirty men."

"So the answer is to kill him to prevent a crime that he may _never even attempt?_ " Dale asks hotly, voice raised.

"Dale!" Adrienne snaps, springing from her seat. "Look around this room. Are you willin' to bet the lives of every single person here? Carl, Beth, Jimmy. And for what? To save a guy who didn't think twice when he _attempted_ to blow Glenn's brains out."

"If we do this, we're saying there's no hope," Dale continues, unfazed. "Rule of law is dead, there is no civilization."

" _Rule_ of _law?_ " Adrienne scoffs. "Are we just pickin' and choosin' which laws we're abidin' now? We've broken speed limits, we've stolen cars, we've stolen things _inside_ cars, we-"

"That's different!" Dale insists.

"Where's the line?" Adrienne demands. "And say, for argument's sake, let's just _say_ the law still exists, that it's relevant. Last I checked, murder's _against_ the law, Dale, a _felony_ punishable _by death_ in the state of Georgia."

"Yes, but _he didn't kill anybody!_ "

"That we know about!" Adrienne hisses. "He almost did. Glenn's only alive right now 'cause that punk out there _missed,_ and attempted murder is still a felony charge."

"Oh, my god," Shane groans, frustration lacing his voice.

"Could you drive him further out?" Hershel questions. "Leave him, like you planned?"

"You barely came back this time," Lori argues, shaking her head. "There are walkers, you could break down, you, you could get _lost._ "

"Or get ambushed," I point out.

"They're right, we should not put our own people at risk," Glenn says.

"If you go through with it... how would you do it?" Patricia questions. "Would he suffer?"

"We could hang him, right?" Shane suggests. "Just snap his neck."

"How's that better than a clean shot to the head?" Adrienne demands. "What if the rope snaps? What if the beam breaks or, or you don't do it right and his neck doesn't snap, he seizes and he _does_ suffer? No. Too many things could go wrong, it's less risky to just put a bullet in his brain like we should've done in the first place."

"Saves us a bullet, Adie," Shane points out.

I fucking hate when he calls her that. Hell, everybody calls her that, but Shane makes it sound too familiar.

"I thought about that," Rick announces. "Adrienne's right, shooting may be more humane."

"What about the body, do we bury him?" T-Dog questions.

"Woah, woah, woah, hold on!" Dale shouts. "Hold on! You're talkin' about this like it's already decided."

"You've been talkin' all day, goin' around in circles," I huff. "You just wanna go around in circles again?"

"This is a young man's life!" Dale roars. "And it is worth more than a five minute conversation!"

"We started this conversation the night we brought the stray home and _fed_ it," Adrienne points out. "More than a week ago."

"Is this what it's come to?" Dale demands, ignoring her. "We kill someone because we can't decide what _else_ to do with him? You saved him and now look at us! He's been tortured. He's gonna be executed! How are we any better than those people that we're so afraid of?"

A heavy silence falls over the room. The way I see it, it's pretty simple. See the threat, eliminate the threat. And the kid's a rapist. We save his life, he takes away someone else's. He ain't even a kid, neither. Went to school with Maggie, he's gotta be at least 19, 20 years old. He's an adult.

"I can't think of the last time I killed a cop or raped somebody," Adrienne breaks the silence, voice as cold as ice. "Or tried to kill somebody simply for bein' in the wrong place at the wrong time or, or _stood back and watched_ while my friends did any of those things."

"We all know what needs to be done," Shane says decisively.

"No, Dale is right," Rick argues. "We can't leave any stone unturned here. We have a responsibility-"

"So what's the other solution?" Andrea demands, cutting Rick off.

"Let Rick finish!" Lori spits.

"We haven't come up with a single viable option yet," Andrea continues. "I wish we could-"

"So let's work on it!" Dale hollers.

"We _are!_ " Rick retorts.

"Stop it," Carol snaps. "Just stop it. I'm sick of everybody arguing and fighting. I didn't ask for this. You can't ask us to _decide_ something like this. Please decide. Either of you, both of you, but leave me out," she finishes, shrugging.

"Not speaking out… or _killing_ him yourself, there's no difference," Dale proclaims.

"All right, that's enough," Rick commands. "Anybody that wants the floor before we make a final decision-" Adrienne straightens up, more than ready to commandeer this meeting, " _-not you,_ Adrienne! Has the chance."

The redhead slumps back into her seat and everyone remains silent. Until, of course, Dale takes the floor.

"You once said that we don't kill the living," he begins.

"Well that was before the living tried to kill us," Rick hisses.

"But don't you see, if we do this, the, the people that we were, the, the world that we knew is dead!" Dale protests emphatically. "And this new world's _ugly!_ It's… harsh, it's, it's survival of the fittest. And that's a world I don't wanna live in. And I don't, I don't believe that any of you do! I can't! Please. Let's just do what's right. Isn't there anybody else who's gonna stand with me?"

He's begged. Pleaded. Cried. No one appears to be moved. Not even-

"He's right," Andrea pipes up. "We should try to find another way."

"There _isn't_ another way," Adrienne says flatly, and I'm surprised to see her crying.

Tears are welling in her eyes, slipping down her cheeks and leaving silvery little trails on her skin. She don't like this. None of us do. She ain't cruel and she ain't out for blood, she just don't want to see her people die. Her reason. That's what she said last night, talking to Beth, all these people are her reason for living. And she said _my_ name. I'm one of her reasons. I don't deserve it.

"I'm sorry, Dale," she continues. "This is the world we live in _now._ One life. That's the price we have to pay to keep our own safe. If we let this guy go, or, or even try to bring him into our group, we risk the lives of everyone here. If he leaves, if he gets back to his thirty men, and I believe he _will..._ they'll come for us. He'll lead 'em straight to this place. And we'll be outnumbered and _outgunned_ and we _all_ die. Or we put him down. We eliminate the risk."

"Anybody else?" Rick questions.

"Are y'all gonna watch, too?" Dale asks scathingly when no one speaks. "No, you'll go hide your heads in your tents and try to forget that we're slaughtering a human being. Woah…" he shakes his head in disbelief. "I won't be a party to it."

He stops on his way out, placing his hand on my shoulder.

"This group _is_ broken," he says, echoing my earlier sentiment and stalking from the house.

"It's settled then?" Adrienne asks, breaking the silence Dale left in his wake.

"Tonight," Rick confirms with a nod.

And it is settled. Night falls and Shane, Rick, and I head out to the barn with Randall. The situation don't feel right, not really, but I remember Adrienne's words from earlier. Whose lives are we willing to gamble to save this little prick? _This is the world we live in now._ We have to put him down.

"It's all gonna be over soon," Shane soothes, covering the kid's eyes with a strip of tattered, black fabric and tying it around his head. "Shh. Relax."

It strikes me as more than a little odd, Shane trying to comfort the kid right before we paint the barn with his brain matter. It's weird. Like part of him's enjoying this. Like maybe the world like it is now is just an excuse for men like Shane to act on all the shit they couldn't do before. It reminds me of something my mom said once. We were watching the news. I was just a kid, barely even in school. She was shaking her head, smoking a cigarette, staring at this guy on the TV who was getting put away for killing a bunch of black people. Asshole was part of the Aryan brotherhood, screaming some shit about cleaning up our streets. _Baby, I'm tellin' you, ain't nothin' more dangerous than a bad guy who thinks he's a hero._

"Would you like to stand or kneel?" Rick questions.

The kid just keeps on with his sobbing. I'm done with it. We ain't dragging this out any longer than we have to. I shove him roughly to his knees.

"Do you have any final words?"

Christ, I wish he'd quit stalling. Rick finally draws his weapon, about to shoot, when we realize we have company.

"Do it, Dad," Carl urges from the doorway. "Do it."

"Are you kiddin' me?" Shane demands, striding towards Carl, grabbing him by the arm and escorting him out. "What'd I say to you? _What did I say to you?_ Come on."

"Take him away," Rick breathes, voice thick with emotion.

Good lord. Of course the group's broken. We got two men fighting for leadership who ain't got the first clue how to survive in this world. Rick's soft. He's too soft for this. He's too good a man to do the shit that needs doing. Shane's the opposite. He's too willing to do the ugly shit. He'll kill to serve his own agenda and he'll do it with a smile on his face.

"Get up," I snarl, yanking the kid to his feet.

Adrienne's gonna be pissed.

*Adrienne's POV*

We're standing, silent, gathered around the fire waiting for the sound of a single gunshot to ring though the air. Dale wandered off, not wanting to _'be a party'._ Daryl, Shane, and Rick took Randall out to the barn long enough ago that the fact we haven't heard that shot yet is more than a little unsettling. What the hell's the hold up? My question is answered when a grim faced Rick appears, a sulking Carl beside him.

"We're keeping him in custody for now," Rick announces.

God damn it, Carl. He's supposed to be in the house with Beth and Jimmy.

"I'm gonna find Dale," Andrea says happily, heading off to spread the fantastic news.

"Carl, go inside," Lori orders, eyes on her husband. "Now, please."

"He followed us," Rick explains once Carl's disappeared inside their tent. "He wanted to watch. I couldn't…"

"That's okay," Lori soothes, embracing Rick. "That's okay."

We've all just sat down, consumed in our own thoughts on the Randall situation, when a startled scream pierces the night. Dale? Everyone's up, tearing towards the sound, all of us springing into action immediately. We may have been arguing, but Dale is _family._ Rick, T and I all have our guns drawn, sprinting in the direction of Dale's cries.

"Dale!" Andrea hollers, and I spot her across the field, hurtling towards the sound from a different direction.

I can't see anything, it's too dark. Everything looks the same. Dale's anguished howls intensify, ricocheting through the air.

"Help!"

Oh, god, it's Daryl. He's flagging us down from several yards away, and my legs pump faster to get to him.

"Over here!" He hollers. "Help, run!"

I reach Daryl and take in the horrifying scene before me. Dale, on the ground beside a motionless walker. He's in shock, bloodied, his intestines pouring from a large hole in his abdomen.

"Hang in there, buddy," Daryl soothes.

"Who is it?" Andrea cries breathlessly as she arrives. "Oh, god!"

The rest of the group reaches the scene, horror-stricken faces taking in the state of our friend.

"All right, just listen to my voice!" Rick orders fervently, kneeling over Dale. "Listen to me, all right? All right? Okay, hold on now. Get Hershel!" He cries over his shoulder. "He needs blood, we gotta operate now."

"Hang on, Dale," Andrea whispers, kneeling beside the dying man.

"What happened?" Hershel demands, arriving within seconds.

"What can we do?" Rick questions frantically as the doctor kneels to examine Dale's wound.

It's too late. I can see it. We all know it, but we can't accept it. It's _Dale._ We can't lose Dale, we can't… I drop to my knees at the crown of the old man's head, stroking what remains of his salt and pepper hair. He hasn't been bitten anywhere that I can see, but his wound… he's dying.

"Can we move him?" Rick asks thickly, choking back the sobs threatening to escape his throat.

"He won't make the trip," Hershel says gravely.

"You have to do the operation here!" Rick says emphatically, beginning to shout orders at us, desperately clinging to the idea that we can save him.

"Rick!" Hershel shouts, shaking his head at the man.

It's over. We have to put him out of his misery, and the grief washing over the entire group is unbearable. My god, he's dead already. And the last thing I did was scream at him.

"I'm so sorry, Dale," I sob, dropping a kiss to his forehead.

"He's suffering," Andrea breathes, watching the man we all love struggle to breathe, tears streaming down her face. "Do something!"

What else can he do? Rick raises his gun, hands shaking, and aims it right at Dale's forehead. I move to Dale's side, clinging to his hand. But Rick can't do this, not this one. Not again. He already had to put a bullet through Sophia's head, he _can't do this..._ but he will. Rick will do this, even if it destroys part of him, to make sure none of us have to. So Daryl steps forward, taking the gun from Rick and kneeling beside Dale.

"Sorry, brother," he murmurs softly.

He pulls the trigger and Dale is gone.

-

"Dale could… could get under your skin," Rick says softly the next morning, all of us gathered around Dale's graveside.

We're giving him a proper funeral because that's still who we are. We are human. We are alive. We mourn our dead. We bury the ones we love.

"He sure got under mine," Rick continues. "Because he wasn't afraid to say exactly what he thought, how he felt. That kinda honesty is rare… and _brave._ Whenever I'd make a decision, I'd look at Dale. He'd be lookin' back at me with that look he had. We've all seen it one time or another. I couldn't always read him, but he could read us. He saw people for who they were. He knew things about us. The _truth,_ who we really are. In the end, he was talkin' about losin' our humanity. He said this group was broken. The best way to honor him is to unbreak it. Set aside our differences and pull together, stop feelin' sorry for ourselves and take control of our lives, our _safety..._ our future. We're _not_ broken. We're gonna prove him wrong. From now on, we're gonna do it his way. That is how we honor Dale."

After the burial, Shane, Andrea, T, Daryl, and I went out to search for the breech in our security. We have to find where the walker got in, figure out why we hadn't seen it until it was too late, so the five of us piled into the truck, Shane driving with Andrea sitting shotgun. Daryl, T, and I packed into the bed. We drove all around the area, checking and reinforcing the fences, Daryl looking for tracks in the woods, all of us sticking tight together to take down any walkers we came across. I think we'd forgotten. Grown complacent in the safety of the farm. We're not safe. After a while we returned to camp, not having found a lead on the walker that killed Dale, to discover that Hershel's invited us to move inside.

"Gonna be tight, fifteen people in one house," Rick points out.

"Don't worry about that," Hershel waves him off. "With the swamp hardening, the creek dryin' up…"

"With fifty head of cattle on the property, we might as well be ringin' the damn dinner bell," Maggie adds.

"She's right," Hershel agrees. "We should've moved you in a while ago."

"All right, let's move the vehicles near each of the doors, facin' out toward the road,'' Rick instructs. "We'll build a lookout in the windmill, another in the barn loft. That should give us sightlines, both sides of the property. T-Dog, you take the perimeter around the house. Keep track of everyone comin' and goin'."

"What about standin' guard?" T questions.

"Well, I need you and Daryl on double duty," Rick explains.

"Gotcha," T agrees.

"I'll stock the basement with food and water, enough that we can all survive there a few days if need be," Hershel announces.

"Shouldn't we take guard in shifts?" I question. "Make sure no one's gettin' burned out?"

"What about patrols?" Andrea adds.

"Let's get this area locked down first," Rick instructs. "After that, Shane'll assign shifts while me and Daryl take Randall off-site and cut him loose."

He eyes me, wary that I'm gonna argue. I nod. For Dale, I won't fight this. I still think it's a mistake. I think we're gonna have a war on our hands when Randall makes his way back to his 30 men. But we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.

"We're back to that, now?" Shane asks.

"It was the right plan first time around," Rick says simply. "Poor execution."

"That's a slight understatement," Shane scoffs.

"Jesus Christ, not again," I mutter, the two men gearing up for yet another fucking power struggle.

I can't stand here listening to another dick swinging match. These two are driving the group further and further apart every second of every goddamn day. The _group_ isn't broken, not yet, _they_ are, and they're what's gonna break us. They came back the other night from wherever the hell they were gonna cut Randall loose bloody and bruised. Spun some story about walkers, but walkers don't hit you and those bruises… they're from fists. I don't believe 'em for a second. I stalk off towards mine and T-Dog's tent, slipping inside and rolling up the sleeping bags so I can break the tent down.

"You can't tell me you're okay with this," Shane says, stepping into my tent a few minutes later.

"It doesn't matter what I'm okay with, Shane," I sigh, folding up the ratty blankets T and I have been using. "What matters is payin' our respects to Dale. He deserves that much."

"No, it _matters,_ " he snaps. "Okay? It does matter."

"Look, I don't like it," I huff. "I think we should've shot the kid back at the bar. I think not killin' 'im now is a mistake, but Dale-"

"Dale's dead, Adrienne."

"And his dyin' wish was us lettin' that boy live. Whether I like it or not. Whether _you_ like it or not," I retort, turning to find him uncomfortably close. "We know what we're up against if Randall makes it back to his group. Thanks to _Daryl._ "

Shane's face contorts in rage at the mention of Daryl, whom Rick seems to be favoring lately. Shane's not the leader anymore, and he's not Rick's right hand either. He hates it. He lunges at me, roughly grasping a fistful of my hair and yanking my head back as he pushes his body against mine.

"You still gon' be fine with it when one of those bad guys has you in this position?" He snarls, dark eyes boring into mine as his grip on my hair tightens.

"Let me go," I whisper, wide-eyed and frozen.

"Why? They ain't gonna til they're through with you," he spits.

"Shane, _please._ "

I squirm, trying to break free from his grasp, but he just holds me tighter, spinning me around and pinning my arms to my sides while I struggle and beg. I feel like my ribs are going to crack, an all too familiar lead weight sinking into my chest. The panic rising up in my body. He cages me against his chest, one arm across my neck, the other arm moving down, down… then his hand is in my pants, his palm rough against my skin, his fingers… no. No, he's not doing this. _He's_ _not doing this to me._ It's _Shane,_ he _saved_ me. This isn't happening.

I concentrate on my breathing, fighting to keep it even. I need to focus. Shoving the fear deep down into the depths of my stomach, I manage to wriggle my right arm free. Channeling every ounce of strength I have in my body, I whirl in his arms and shove my hand upward, my palm colliding with his nose. Hard. It crunches, blood spurting from his face, and his grip finally, _finally_ loosens. I knee him between the legs and sprint from the tent as he collapses in pain. I run. I run from the camp, hurtling across the field and into the trees. And I keep running, pure adrenaline kicking in as I flee, my heart in my throat and my mind somewhere else entirely.

*Daryl's POV*

"Take him out to Senoia," Rick suggests, the two of us standing on the porch looking over the map. "Hour there, hour back give or take. We may lose the light, but we'll be halfway home by then."

"This little pain in the ass'll be a distant memory," I agree, leaning against the railing. "Good riddance."

"Carol's puttin' together some provisions for him, enough to last a few days," Rick informs me, eyeing Shane's vehicle coming up the drive.

I follow his gaze, peering through the windshield as the asshole approaches. Jesus, hell happened to him? Looks like he ran face first into a brick wall. Not that he looked that great to begin with. When him and Rick came back with the kid, they'd both been sporting black eyes. They avoided explaining themselves, but it don't take a genius to figure out they'd beat the hell out of each other.

"That thing you did last night…" Rick trails off.

"Ain't no reason you should do all the heavy liftin'," I tell him truthfully, and he nods.

"So are you good with all this?" He asks as Shane cuts the engine, exiting the car.

His nose is definitely broken. Good, about time some karma came his way. Rick wants to know if I'm good with all this. Truth is, no. I think Adrienne's right. They should've left that kid up on that fence. But it ain't her call. She knows that. It ain't my call, neither, and I'm getting damn tired of arguing about it. Besides, the kid's hurt. He ain't gonna make it back to his group. We don't have to kill him.

"I don't see you and I tradin' haymakers on the side of the road," I point out. "Nobody'd win that fight. I'm gon' take a piss."

I hop down from the rail as Shane approaches and head inside, making a quick exit before any bullshit can go down between the two used to be best friends.

*Adrienne's POV*

I run until I can't anymore, collapsing to the forest floor breathless and aching. I roll over, vomiting onto the ground and sobbing uncontrollably. The reality of what could have happened, of what did happen, of a man's hands on me _again..._ it's sinking in. But the memories are confused, faces melding together, my mind struggling to separate past and present. Shane. Chris. My daddy. A nameless phantom with a red solo cup and too white teeth on the worst night of my life.

_You still gon' be fine with it when one of those bad guys has you in this position?_

_No, my darling girl, I love you._

_Just relax, baby. Let me take care of you._

_No, Adie Bee, you're so, so special_.

_Why don't we give 'em a little show?_

Hands in my hair, but am I really struggling?

_This isn't your fault, Adrienne._

_Don't be a fucking tease._

_I'll never hurt you_.

_He took advantage of you._

_I love you, Adie Bee._

Colors and fragments of memories whirl in my head like a warped circus carousel spinning around, around, around...

_Adie Bee..._


	25. Hello, Trouble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: panic attack, mentions of sexual assault

**Chapter 25**

*Daryl's POV*

"Only got so many arrows," T-Dog points out, offering me a pistol.

I'm by the truck, waiting for Rick. Gonna lose the light real fast if he don't hurry his ass up.

"Is that Dale's gun?" I ask, checking out the piece in my hands.

"Yeah," he answers simply, moving to close up the tailgate.

"Wish I knew where the hell mine is," I remark, my own gun having gone missing some time in the last few hours.

"Ready?" Rick questions, striding up to the vehicle.

"Yeah," T-Dog answers him. "I'll get the package."

"Thanks," Rick tells him as he wanders off to retrieve Randall from the shed.

"Hey," Glenn approaches, greeting us with a nod. "Have either of you seen Adie? Beth's asking for her and I can't find her anywhere."

Come to think of it, I ain't seen her since right after we got back from trying to track that walker this morning. I was busy building a watch post up on the barn and planning this Randall bullshit with Rick. I thought she was helping break down their camp.

"Shane said she ran off," Rick sighs. "Said she told him somethin' about clearin' her head and just went."

"When?" Glenn demands, eyes narrowing in confusion. "That's not like her, she knew we needed help securing the house. Why would she just run off?"

He's right. That ain't like her at all.

"Yo, we got a problem," T-Dog announces, having returned without Randall. "Looks like our boy Randy split."

We follow him down to the shed, and sure as shit, Randall ain't in it.

"Cuffs are still hooked, he must've slipped 'em," Rick theorizes, exiting the shed as the rest of the group gathers around.

"Is that possible?" Carol asks.

"It is if you've got nothin' to lose," Andrea replies, emerging from the shed.

"The door was secured from the outside," Hershel points out.

This ain't looking too good. Randall's gone. Adrienne's been pretty clear about how she would handle things given the chance, and she's gone, too. And where the fuck is Shane? He wanted to put the kid down, that ain't a secret, and by all accounts, he's the last person that actually saw Adrienne. Son of a bitch. Maybe they decided to handle shit themselves. Don't seem like Adrienne, though. She ain't subtle. Shane's face. He's been in a fight, I know it. It's gotta be connected, it ain't a coincidence. Supposedly he took a tumble from the windmill when he was setting up the other watchpost. That's what he told Rick. Seems he's been doing a lot of talking.

"Rick!" Shane hollers, marching towards us from the woods. "Rick!"

There's fresh blood dripping from his face, the scabs from earlier having reopened. Looks like some new scrapes, too. I don't care about all that though. Shane's alone. Where's Adrienne? The kid?

"What happened?" Lori demands as Shane strides closer to the group.

"He's armed!" Shane claims. "He's got my gun!"

"Are you okay?" Carl questions.

"I'm fine, little bastard just snuck up on me, clocked me in the face," Shane answers him, but it don't ring true.

"So you ain't seen Adrienne?" I question, and something dark flickers behind the man's eyes before he shakes his head.

"Hell, she missin'?" He asks, working too hard to sound sincere. "Thought she'd've been back by now.

"Unbelievable," Andrea scoffs. "She's probably working with him, luring him away to do the deed herself. I'm sure she fed him some line about getting him outta here. God knows the kid wouldn't be the first guy around here following her around like a lost puppy."

She glances pointedly at me, her lip curling in disgust. I don't know what the hell her deal is, and I don't like what she's implying. I ain't no damn puppy. I don't follow nobody around. If anything, these people won't leave me the hell alone.

"Man, what the hell are you talkin' about?" T-Dog demands. "If she wanted to kill him herself, she'd have done it already. Right here."

"Right," Andrea chuckles humorlessly. "I forgot. She can do no wrong."

"That's not what I'm sayin'!" T-Dog argues. "All I'm sayin' is she's not gonna sneak around, that ain't her. C'mon, when has she ever been subtle?"

"She  _ threatened  _ me-" Andrea begins hotly.

"All right, all right, that's enough," Rick orders, cutting her off. "Hershel, T-Dog, get everybody back in the house. Glenn, Daryl, come with us."

"T, I'ma need that gun," Shane demands.

"Just let him go!" Carol protests. "That was the plan, wasn't it? To just let him go? If he's with Adie, he's not coming back. She won't-"

"The plan was to cut him loose far away from here, not on our front step with a gun!" Rick roars. "And not with one of our own missin'!"

"Don't go out there!" Carol cries. "You know what can happen!"

"Get everybody back in the house," Rick commands, heading into the forest. "Lock all the doors and stay put!"

"I saw him head up through the trees that way before I blacked out," Shane tells us as we enter the woods. "I'm not sure how long."

"He couldn't've gotten far," Rick says firmly. "He's hobbled, exhausted."

"And armed," Glenn points out nervously. "Maybe with Adie."

"So are we," Rick counters, turning his attention to me. "Can you track him?"

"No, I don't see nothin'," I tell him, scanning the ground.

The kid didn't come this way. Ain't no tracks, no nothin'.

"Hey, look, there ain't no use in trackin' him, okay?" Shane says. 

Something tells me he's trying to get us off the kid's trail. Or lack thereof.

"He went that way, we just need to pair up," he insists. "We spread out, we just chase 'im down, that's it."

"Kid weighs a buck twenty-five soakin' wet," I point out. "You tryin' to tell us he got the jump on you?"

"I'd say a rock and an inside ally pretty much evens those odds, wouldn't you?" He retorts.

A rock? Thought he said the kid punched him.

"C'mon now, I know we're all thinkin' it," he sighs. "Adie's missin' and she don't want that kid alive. I think it's pretty damn obvious she cut him loose, probably spun some story about gettin' him outta here alive so she could get him alone, put him down. You know Adie, man, she, she, she gets in her head she can do things on her own. Handle things. Kid must've fought her off, got away."

"She ain't stupid," I spit.

She ain't weak, neither. That kid couldn't have fought her off, not without a gun.

"All right, all right, knock it off," Rick steps in. "You and Glenn start headin' up the right flank. Me and Shane'll take the left. Remember, Randall's not the only threat out there. Keep an eye out for each other. If you find Adie, disarm her and  _ keep her with you. _ "

Does he really believe the bullshit Shane's spinning about Adrienne? I don't think he does. He ain't stupid, neither. We split up anyway, though, Shane and Rick taking left, Glenn and I taking right. Night fell pretty quick, we're working with next to no light and I'm not seein' a damn thing.

"This is pointless," I sigh. "You got a light?"

Glenn produces a flashlight and hands it to me. I switch it on and shine the beam all around us. The kid  _ didn't _ come through here. Adrienne sure as hell didn't, neither. Nobody did.

"Come on," I mutter.

We're looking in the wrong place, I know it. We gotta go back, find the actual trail from the shed.

"We're just back to square one," Glenn points out, realizing where I've led him.

"Yeah, if you're gonna do a thing, you might as well do it right," I point out, searching for anything that might give us a lead. "There's two sets of tracks right here. Shane must've followed 'im a lot longer 'n he said." 

"How do you know they're Shane's tracks and not Adie's?"

"Unless she's gained about 60 pounds 'n grown a few inches since we saw her last, these ain't hers."

Nah, Adrienne was never here. So where the hell is she? Shane's trying too hard to make her look guilty and the knot in my gut is becoming harder and harder to ignore. She didn't take off on a run to clear her head, that's bullshit. She's missing and so is Randall and he may or may not have Shane's gun. We follow the tracks for a little while, then the beam of the flashlight washes over something crimson.

"There's fresh blood on this tree," I announce.

Son of a fucking bitch, what the hell's goin' on here? 

"There's more tracks. Looks like they're walkin' in tandem."

We keep going, the tracks leading the way. A nightbird chitters in the distance, abruptly breaking the silence and scaring the shit out of Glenn, who stumbles forward, right into me.

"Sorry."

Jumpy motherfucker.

"Yeah, there was a little dust up right here," I murmur, ignoring the apology, staring at the ground.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean somethin' went down."

"It's getting weird," he sighs.

"Hello, trouble," I point out Randall's blindfold, lying abandoned on the ground.

Glenn snatches it up, dangling it before him, examining the scrap of fabric.

"You think Adrienne's-" he starts, but is interrupted by a rustling from behind us.

We dive behind a couple trees as a single walker meanders into the clearing where we'd just been. It shambles over to us and we struggle to take it down, not having enough light to really see what the fuck we're doing. Still, Glenn manages to take it out and we step back to take a look at it.

"Oh," I murmur.

It's Randall. Glenn got him good. 

"Nice," I tell him, clapping him on the gut before kneeling to examine the body. "Got his neck broke," I mutter, flipping him over. "He's got no bites."

"Yeah, none you can see," Glenn argues.

"No, I'm tellin' you," I counter, pointing at the sharp, unnatural angle of Randall's neck. "He died from this."

"How's that possible?" He demands.

I have no idea. It makes no sense, you gotta be infected to turn. Bit. Right? He don't have a gun, neither. Shane said he took his, but it ain't here.

"Glenn? Daryl?"

*Adrienne's POV*

_ Special girl… _

No.

_ Adie Bee. _

No _. _ I have to come back, I gotta get my shit together. I need to get back to the farm before Shane does something stupid.

_ Oh, my darling girl. _

My father's voice, like silken razor blades. He's not here.

_ Special girl. _

He's  _ not _ here.

I focus on my senses. What can I feel? My throat, dry and scratchy. Leaves, pine needles, all manner of dead, dry foliage beneath my hands, rough against my cheek. It's cold, unseasonably so for this time of day. I smell dirt. Pine. Smoke, the sharp stench of vomit, the sickly sweet, ever present smell of death and decay that lingers in the air. I can hear the crickets.  _ Always _ the crickets. Frogs. Animals chittering from within the forest. Wind whispering through the trees, tickling the leaves. I can taste bile on the back of my tongue. What can I see? I crack my eyes open, fully expecting to be blinded by the light of midmorning filtering down through the treetops. But it's dark. It's dark and I don't know where I am. I sit up, my eyes adjusting to the limited light. Oh, god. Reality comes hurtling at me like a freight train. I've been out here for hours. This attack lasted  _ hours,  _ and now I don't know where the fuck I am or how to get back to the farm. Nice going, dipshit.

I'm pondering whether or not I should wait out the night, or risk wandering the woods and possibly getting myself cornered by a walker, maybe more than one, when I hear a struggle just beyond me. Snarls. Grunts, too, from person or persons unknown and very much alive. Someone's taking down a walker, but who? Randall's guys? There's a high chance it's one of my group, maybe even out looking for me. But… but what if it's Shane? I spring to my feet, pull the handgun from the back of my waistband, and deftly, quietly sprint my way across the forest floor in the direction of the commotion. It's amazing to me how far sound travels out here. I've gone nearly a half mile before the sound disappears. Whoever it is, they must have just put down the bastard, it's silent now. Almost silent. I can still hear muffled whispers. I keep moving.

"No, I'm tellin' you. He died from this."

That's Daryl. Who's he with?

"How's that possible?"

Glenn. Relief floods my body as I step into a small clearing and see two of my boys beside a dead walker. No Shane. They're alone.

"Glenn?" I question. "Daryl?"

Daryl gets to his feet as Glenn whirls around to face me.

"Adie? Where the hell have you been?" Glenn demands.

"I…" I start, voice getting caught on the lump in my throat. "Shane, he-"

"Adie," Glenn's voice softens as he watches me break down, tears welling in my eyes and dripping down my cheeks.

He crosses over to me, pulling me into a tight hug, letting go immediately when I cry out, a sudden sharp pain in my side.

"Is that blood?" He asks nervously, eyeing the dark stains on my shirt.

In my hair. On my face. Shane's blood. I think I broke his nose.

"It's not my blood."

"What happened?" Daryl demands, looking at me with concern.

"Shane cornered me this mornin','' I breathe, pulse quickening as the panic rises anew. "He, he…"

"Oh, god," Glenn looks horrified. "Did he…" he trails off, not wanting to say it aloud.

"He would have," I whisper, eyes on Daryl.

He looks murderous.

"He… he wanted me to help him take care of the kid but, but I told him no and… and he grabbed me, wouldn't let me go and his  _ hand- _ " I choke on my words, the ghost of rough hands on my skin stealing my breath. "He, he wasn't gonna stop. I ran, I had to run. I, I hit him and ran away. Just kept runnin'. I… I had an attack."

My tears are falling in earnest now, my body trembling from cold or maybe fear.

"Worse, worse, worse than before and I... I didn't know where the hell I was. I still don't know where we are…"

"Shh," Glenn soothes, smoothing my hair from my face. "It's okay."

My gaze drops to the walker on the ground. Is that…

"Is that Randall?"

"Yeah. Shane said he attacked him, he's with Rick," Glenn informs me. "He told us you went for a run. We thought maybe you were-"

"You thought I brought him out here to kill him," I fill in, his guilty eyes betraying him. "If I was gonna kill him, I'd've done it in the shed, Glenn. Clearly, I'm not the one who did this. Shane, either. Asshole got himself bit."

"He ain't bit," Daryl tells me.

"What? But he's-"

"I know," Daryl nods. "He got 'is neck broke. It don't make any sense."

"So… so Shane, he told y'all what exactly?"

"He came out of the woods all beat up," Glenn informs me, his brow furrowing in confusion. "He told us Randall attacked him, took his gun, that we had to find him. He said you…" he trails off, at a loss.

"He said a lotta things," Daryl mutters.

"A lotta bullshit, sounds like," I sigh. "He must've killed Randall. I don't know how he turned, but Shane killed him. Then brought y'all out here… why?"

"Somethin' ain't addin' up," Daryl says darkly. "Come on. Gotta get back. Stay close. You okay walkin'?"

"I'm fine," I push gently on my ribs, wincing. "Think I might have a broken rib is all. I can walk."

Daryl mutters something about breaking that sumbitch's legs under his breath, and then we're off. Turns out we weren't all that far from the farm. I'd taken off and run in a big half circle. What had felt like miles away was actually just the other side of the property, my path a long arc around the perimeter. We've just reached the yard when a gunshot pierces the night.

"What the hell?" I question breathlessly as we tear across the yard. "Just one shot?"

We sprint towards the house, heading inside to greet a room full of people, most of whom had, according to Glenn, come to the general conclusion that I was involved in Randall's disappearance.

"Did you fi-" Andrea begins, stopping mid sentence when she catches sight of me. "I'm sorry, when did we start taking in strays?" She simpers, placing her hand on Daryl's shoulder.

He shakes her off, scoffing.

"What happened?" Lori demands, glaring at me.

"Not now," Glenn whispers to her. "Okay? She didn't do it."

"Adie," T murmurs, mildly alarmed, looking me over. "Are you okay?"

I must look awful, the way the group is all staring.

"I'm fine," I mutter, just wanting all these eyes off of me.

"Rick and Shane ain't back?" Daryl asks, changing the subject.

"No," Lori tells him.

"We heard a shot," Daryl says worriedly.

"Maybe they found Randall," Lori says, trying to convince herself more than anybody else.

"We found him," Daryl announces.

"Is he back in the shed?" Maggie questions.

"He's a walker," Daryl tells her.

"Did you find the walker that bit him?" Hershel asks.

"No, the weird thing is he wasn't bit," Glenn says, puzzled.

"His neck was broke," Daryl adds.

"So he fought back," Patricia suggests.

"Thing is, Shane and Randall's tracks were right on top of each other," Daryl explains. "And Shane ain't no tracker. So he didn't come up behind 'im. No, they were together."

"Would you please get back out there, find Rick and Shane and find out what on earth is goin' on?" Lori asks him emphatically.

"You got it," he nods.

"I'll go with you," I volunteer.

"Nah," he scoffs, incredulous. "You stay put, it ain't safe."

"I know that! Please don't go alone," I plead, tears pricking my eyes. "Please."

"Hey," he murmurs, seemingly startled at the panic in my voice. "Hey, don't worry. I'll be back."

I nod, following him onto the porch, intent on keeping watch until he returns. That's when I hear it. What the fuck is that? A low humming, getting gradually louder.

"You hear that?" I question, squinting into the distance.

"Mhmm," he grunts, his eyes sweeping back and forth, attempting to locate the source.

We spot it at the same time. A massive herd, shambling out of the shadows like undead foot soldiers, heading straight for us.

"Christ almighty," I breathe, my blood running cold as the rest of the group gathers behind me and Daryl.

"Patricia, kill the lights," Hershel whispers.

"I'll get the guns," Andrea says, hastily sprinting back inside.

"Maybe they're just passing, like the herd on the highway," Glenn says hopefully. "Should we just go inside?"

"Not unless there's a tunnel downstairs I don't know about," Daryl rejects the idea. "Herd that size'll rip the house down."

"Carl's gone!" Lori announces frantically, stepping onto the porch.

"What?!" Daryl and I demand in unison, whirling on Lori.

"He, he was upstairs," she says breathlessly. "I can't find him anymore."

"Maybe he's hiding," Glenn suggests.

"He's supposed to be upstairs," Lori insists. "I'm not leavin' without my boy!"

"We're not," Carol says. "We're gonna, we're gonna look again, we're gonna find him."

The two ladies head back inside.

"He probably went out after Rick," I murmur furtively to Daryl, scanning the yard. 

"Let's hope he made it to 'im," he responds grimly as Maggie starts handing out weapons.

"Maggie…" Glenn says doubtfully.

"You grow up country, you pick up a thing or two," she proclaims, loading a rifle.

"I got the number, it's no use," Daryl advises.

"You can go if you want," Hershel tells him.

"You gonna take 'em all on?" Daryl asks incredulously.

"We have guns," Hershel points out. "We have cars."

"Kill as many as we can, then we'll use the cars to lead the rest of them off the farm," Andrea plans aloud.

"Are you serious?" Daryl questions softly.

"This is my farm," Hershel insists. "I'll die here."

"And you?" Daryl asks, turning his gaze to me.

"Wouldn't hurt to take out a few of 'em, redirect 'em, try to save this place," I shrug. "But we gotta do it smart. Every shot we fire's gonna attract more."

"We can't take them all on with just knives, Adrienne," Andrea spits.

"I know that," I snap.

We don't have to like each other, but we do have to work together. We're on the same side, more or less.

"I know," I assure her, softening. "We're gonna have to fire, but we can use that to our advantage. Think sheep dogs. We take every car we've got, the RV, Daryl's bike, round 'em up. Establish a perimeter, keep it tight, shoot the ones that get too close, use the noise to keep the rest of 'em on our tail. Go slow, take the main road, lose 'em a few miles out, floor it and circle back."

"All right," Daryl nods. "It's as good a night as any."

With that, he hops over the railing to retrieve the motorcycle.

"Daryl!" I blurt, causing him to eye me over his shoulder. I hop down beside him and take his hand in mine. "Be safe."

He nods, squeezing my hand and tearing off towards his bike.

"Adie, you're with us, let's go!" T says, thrusting a shotgun into my hands as he, Andrea and I take off towards Otis's truck.

"I'll have more range in the bed," I announce, jumping into the back of the truck as T takes the wheel, Andrea taking shotgun with a rifle.

The night is illuminated when the barn goes up in flames. I don't know who the hell did that, but it's genius.

"South side fence!" I roar, waving Daryl forward. "Aim for the barn, draw 'em to the flames!"

Daryl and Jimmy pull over at the fence, the rest of our small caravan staying in motion, idling just long enough for a chunk of the herd to break off and head our way. I can see the walkers clearly now, my aim true as I fire headshot after headshot despite T driving like a madman, following Glenn. Inexplicably, the Winnebago pulls out of rank, circling to the back of the barn. It's immediately swarmed with the dead, and I know Jimmy's as good as gone. I regret my choice to ride in the truck bed when T-Dog makes a sharp u-turn and my body damn near flies over the side of the truck.

"Hey!" I holler, beating on the back window. "What're we doin'? We're supposed to be goin' the other way!"

"They're all over the place, there's no corralling them!" Andrea shouts. "We're gonna run out of ammo before we even make a dent!"

I scan the yard, and for all the walkers we've put down ten more have risen in their place like some kind of fucked up zombie Hydra. She's right. We need to leave. The truck lurches again unexpectedly, T altering course, and I find myself tumbling to the ground.

"Shit!" I hiss, plunging my knife into a walker as it bears down on me and scrambling to my feet.

I squint, attempting to get my bearings. My gaze is drawn to Hershel, still near the porch, hopelessly defending his home. They left him? I glance between the house and the truck, making a snap decision. I tear across the yard, running in the exact opposite direction of the cars abandoning the farm. God damn it, Hershel! I can't leave him. Stubborn old man. He's out of ammo, walkers descending upon him. I'm not gonna get there in time. There's a walker right behind him.

"Hershel!" I shriek.

Then the walker's body thuds to the ground, revealing Rick and Carl. Rick and his son pull Hershel into a car and I alter my course for the red Chevy, but I'm surrounded. I'm out of ammo, plunging my blade into walker after walker, desperately trying to make a dent, but they just keep coming.

"Adie!" Carl's voice rings out as the heads of two walkers in front of me explode, their bodies leaving the smallest gap in the wall of corpses surrounding me.

It'll do. It's enough. Carl's hanging out the window of the car and I make a break for it, Hershel throwing open the back door. Thank fuck. I fling myself into the vehicle just as it starts rolling again, but a walker is clinging to my leg, gnawing desperately at my boot.

"Drive!" I shriek maniacally, kicking the walker's head in and yanking the door shut as Rick peels down the drive.

Hershel's horror-stricken as he watches the dead claim what was once his. The farm his father's father's father's father had built. His legacy. I take the old man's hand in mine and squeeze, holding tight while we leave it all behind.

*Daryl's POV*

"C'mon," I mutter, watching the barn burn away, desperately hoping Rick and Shane made it out.

Rick, mostly. I don't give a damn about Shane, not after what he did to Adrienne. If he made it out, he's gonna pay. He ain't getting away with that shit, not like he did with Otis. The two of 'em must've lit up the barn, everyone else was at the house except Carl. I ain't sure anybody got out. I know I should keep moving, but I just keep looking, hoping to catch a glimpse of crimson curls, of long legs running towards me, the girl they belong to hollering, demanding to know what the hell I'm thinking, just sitting here like this. It ain't the first time I watched a building burn with someone I care about inside. Damn it. Jimmy's gone. That's my fault, I told him to circle around. I might as well have killed him myself.

I'm about to turn around, give up on this place and find somewhere else to be, when a high pitched shriek pierces the night. It's coming from the yard in front of the house. I couldn't save Sophia or Dale or Jimmy… but I can save  _ somebody. _ I start the bike, engine roaring to life, and gun it back to the house. I ain't quite to the gate when I see her. Carol, on her own, screaming and crying and hauling ass to the road.

"Come on!" I snarl. "I ain't got all day!"

She hops on the back of the bike, clinging tight to me. I got her. She's safe. I'm gonna keep her that way. We just gotta outrun these walkers, first.


	26. Okay, Napoleon

**Chapter 26**

*Adrienne's POV*

"Adie, did you see anybody make it out?" Rick asks desperately.

My heart shatters and I shake my head. I didn't see a damn thing after I fell from the truck bed. For all we know, it's just the four of us now. Rick hits the gas, flying down the road, putting as much distance between us and the farm as he can. We got walkers on our tail, but they're slow. If we get far enough ahead of them… we could go back, see if anyone else made it. We have to look, at least.

"We can't give up on 'em," I blurt after a while.

In the blueish light of predawn, I can see the road behind us is clear. We have to go back.

"There had to be others," I continue, catching Rick's red-rimmed eyes in the rearview. "Can't just be us. We should circle back to the highway. If anyone else made it out, they'll meet back where we... where we left things for Sophia."

Rick agrees, and we get there just as the sun crests the horizon. It's just us.

"Wait, wait, where's mom?" Carl demands as we hop out of the Chevy. "You said she'd be here!" He shouts, pointing an accusatory finger at me. "We gotta go back for her."

"Carl-" Rick starts.

"No, why are we running?!" Carl explodes. "What are you doing? It's, it's…  _ it is mom!  _ We need to get her and not be safe a mile away!"

"Shh," Rick hushes the boy, whispering. "You need to be quiet, all right? Please."

"Please," Carl repeats quietly. "It's mom! Adie, tell him!"

"Carl-" I begin helplessly, reaching for his hand.

"No!" He pulls away, running back towards the Chevy, coming to rest on the hood of the car next to it.

"Rick," Hershel stops the Sheriff from running after his son.

"I got him," I murmur, trailing after Carl, crouching down in front of him.

"Carl?"

He ignores me. I sigh and slump down beside him on the hood. He throws his arms around me and begins to sob, burying his face in my side, and I just hold him. I'm at a loss. I can't bring myself to put false hope in his heart when there's no guarantee Lori made it out. I won't. I won't tell him it's okay when it's not. So we cry together.

"Carl, we gotta move, bud," I sniffle, spotting a lone walker shambling up the road in our direction.

He clings to my hand and we hide next to the Chevy with Rick and Hershel. We don't have the ammo to waste, and I feel like Carl's seen enough violence for one day, so we let it pass. We let the next one pass, too. And the one after that. And the one  _ after  _ the one after that...

"I don't know how much longer we can stay here," Hershel whispers as yet another walker moves on.

"I'm not leaving without mom," Carl says firmly.

"So we're just gonna walk away?" Rick questions indignantly. "Not knowin' if my wife, your  _ girls, _ are still out there? How do we live with that?"

"You've only got one concern now," Hershel insists. "Just one. Keeping him alive. Nature may be throwing us a curveball, but that law is still true."

"There's nothin' natural about this, Hershel," I murmur.

Rick crouches before his son, pleading with the boy. It's not safe here. Carl knows that, but he's stubborn. He's not ready to give up just yet and before his dad can convince him otherwise, the familiar sound of a motorcycle slices through the air. Daryl comes into our view, slowing his bike to an idle. Carol's on the back, and just behind them are Glenn and Maggie. T-Dog is here, too, bringing up the rear with Beth and Lori nestled safely inside the truck. Daryl cuts his engine and before I can help myself, I'm running. To my utter shock, he lets me throw my arms around him, stiffening but not pulling away.

"Told you I's gon' be safe," he grunts, relaxing into my embrace.

I just snort and hug him tighter.

"Where'd you find everyone?" Rick asks Daryl as I release him, turning to hug Carol.

"Well, those guys' tail lights zig zaggin' all over the road… figured he had to be Asian, drivin' like that." he quips, and we all chuckle.

"Good one," Glenn huffs good-naturedly.

"Where's the rest of us?" Daryl asks.

"We're the only ones who made it so far," Rick informs him.

"Shane?" Lori questions, looking around.

Rick shakes his head and I think about the single gunshot we'd heard before the attack.

"Andrea?" Glenn asks.

"She saved me, then I lost her," Carol says quietly.

"We saw her go down," T informs us. "Right after I lost Adie."

"I'm not lost," I point out, crossing over and wrapping my arms around him. "But next time, I'm drivin'."

"Patricia?" Hershel asks, the list of missing faces growing.

"They got her, too," Beth says tearily. "Took her right in front of me. I was, I was holdin' onto her, daddy. She just…" she can't finish, collapsing against Hershel and sobbing. "What about Jimmy, did you see Jimmy?"

"He was in the RV," Rick tells her. "It got overrun."

"You definitely saw Andrea?" Carol asks again.

"There were walkers everywhere," Lori says, which strikes me as somewhat redundant.

"Did you  _ see _ her?" Carol repeats.

It's silent. They don't know for sure. Hell, how could they? It was dark, we were all panicking, walkers all over the place. It's no secret Andrea and I are like oil and water. We just don't get along at all, but we're on the same team. If it came down to it, I would kill or die for her, same as everyone else here.

"I'm gon' go back," Daryl announces.

"No," Rick argues.

"We can't just leave her," Daryl protests, already halfway seated on his bike.

"We don't even know if she's there," Lori points out.

"She isn't there," Rick says adamantly. "She isn't. She's somewhere else or she's dead. There's no way to find her."

"So we're not even gonna look for her?" Glenn asks indignantly.

"We gotta keep moving," Rick insists. "There have been walkers crawlin' all over here."

We don't like it, but he's right. We have to stay together. We just have to hope she got out, that she's safe somewhere. It's not likely. Not by herself.

"I say head east," T-Dog suggests.

"Stay off the main roads," Daryl adds. "The bigger the road, the more walkers, the more assholes like this one," he points out the walker drawing near. "I got 'im."

He shoots it through the eye, his aim still precise despite the fraught and sleepless night we just had. I yank the arrow from the eye socket, wiping it on my jeans and handing it back to the bowman.

"Only got so many of these," I shrug.

It's settled, we're moving on. We pile ourselves into Maggie and Hershel's cars, abandoning the truck after siphoning the tank dry. We only have so much fuel, and the other vehicles have more room for passengers. Still, leaving the truck puts us a single seat short.

"Carol can ride with me," Daryl offers.

"That's sweet of you, but that thing makes me nervous," Carol says, eyeing the bike distrustfully. "Adie, would you mind givin' up your seat?"

"Oh, um… yeah, no problem," I tell her. "If it's okay with you," I add, eyeing Daryl.

"You good with that?" Rick asks him, Daryl nodding curtly. "All right. Let's move."

"Wait," Maggie says, striding towards me with a lump of navy blue fabric bundled in her hands. "This was my brother, Shawn's."

She shakes out the hoodie, offering it to me. It looks to be in near mint condition, the letters  _ GT _ emblazoned across the front, yellow outlined in white embroidery. Georgia Tech. Her brother was a student. Probably barely into school, never got the chance to finish.

"You're gonna get cold," she explains.

The truth is, I'm already freezing. I'm wearing Daryl's shirt and, while it's my favorite thing I've ever owned, it's not warm. But I can't take her brother's clothes.

"My dad was always after him for leavin' his things in the car," she smiles sadly. "Looks like it came in handy."

"I can't take-"

"You  _ can, _ " she says firmly, pressing the article of clothing into my chest. "And you're goin' to."

She leaves me then, joining Glenn in the Hyundai without another word. I pull the hoodie over my head, marveling at how much warmer I am already.

"Hey," Daryl barks, mounting his bike. "You comin'?"

I slip onto the seat behind Daryl awkwardly, not sure where to put my hands. I mean, I know where they go, but does he really want them there?

"You're gon' wanna hold on," he grunts.

I wrap my arms around him, meeting Carol's eyes as she climbs into Maggie's car. She winks, smirking slyly. Nervous my ass. Still, I'm not complaining when Daryl starts the bike, engine roaring to life as we speed off into the unknown. I cling tight to him, leaning against his back. I can feel the muscles in his shoulders working beneath his clothes, the heat from his body a pleasant contrast to the chilly wind whipping through my hair. Definitely not complaining. We're on the road without incident for a couple hours or so, just putting distance between us and the herd, when Rick honks the horn of the Chevy, signaling a pull over. It's silly, particularly considering the circumstances, but I find myself disappointed. I'd been quite content on the back of the bike.

"You out?" Daryl questions as the others exit the vehicles.

"Runnin' on fumes," Rick confirms.

"We can't stay here," Maggie says, glancing around warily.

"We can't all fit in one car," Glenn points out.

"I could scout ahead," I offer. "Check for cars up the road a ways, see what I can scrounge up."

"We'll have to make a run for gas in the morning," Rick tells me. "We'll lose the light before long and I don't want anyone wanderin' when that happens."

"Spend the night here?" Carol questions indignantly.

"I'm freezing," Carl blurts.

"We'll build a fire, yeah?" Lori says, rubbing Carl's chest.

"You go out lookin' for firewood, stay close,'' Daryl instructs, turning to Rick. "Only got so many arrows. How you doin' on ammo?"

"Not enough."

"We can't just sit here with our asses hangin' out," Maggie protests.

"Watch your mouth," Hershel orders. "Everyone stop panicking and listen to Rick."

"All right, we'll set up a perimeter," Rick begins. "In the morning, we'll find gas and some supplies. We'll keep pushin' on."

"Glenn and I can go make a run now, try and scrounge up some gas like Adie said," Maggie volunteers.

"No, we stay together," Rick commands, no room for questioning in his voice. "God forbid somethin' happens and people get stranded without a car."

"Rick, we're stranded now," Glenn points out.

"I know it looks bad, we've all been through hell and worse, but at least we found each other," Rick murmurs. "I wasn't sure, I, I really wasn't, but we did. We're together. We keep it that way. We'll find shelter, there's gotta be a place."

"Rick, look around," Glenn counters. "Okay? There's walkers everywhere. They're, they're, they're migrating or something-"

"There's gotta be a place!" Rick insists. "Not, not just where we hole up, but that we…  _ fortify. _ Hunker down, pull ourselves together, build a  _ life _ for each other!" He continues emphatically. "I know it's out there, we just have to  _ find _ it."

"Even if we do find a place, and we think it's safe… we can never be sure for how long," Maggie argues. "Look what happened with the farm. We fooled ourselves into thinking that was safe."

"We won't make that mistake again," Hershel says.

"We'll make camp tonight. Over there," Rick decides, pointing to what once may have been a cabin but is now just a brick foundation. "Get on the road at the break of day."

"Does this feel right to you?" Carol questions, turning to Daryl.

"I mean, what if walkers come?" Beth pipes up. "Or another group like Randall's?"

"You know I found Randall, right?" Daryl asks Rick. "He'd turned, but he wasn't bit."

Rick doesn't seem surprised. That's odd.

"How's that possible?" Beth questions.

"Rick, what the hell happened?" Lori demands.

"Shane killed Randall," I pipe up, not a doubt in my mind.

"Just like he always wanted to," Daryl agrees.

"Adie, where the hell were you?" Lori demands. "Shane wasn't the only one who wanted Randall dead, and you were missin', too."

"She don't owe you nothin'!" Daryl spits.

"The hell she doesn't!" Lori fires back. "She-"

"Shane came to me," I interrupt, touching Daryl's elbow to let him know it's okay. "Wanted me to back him up, help him put Randall down. I told him no and he, and he..."

I can't finish, voice breaking as I recall the events of the previous morning, those hands...

"He didn't," Lori breathes, stricken, eyes wide.

"He put 'is hands on her,'' Daryl snarls. "She ran, got lost. Found me 'n Glenn when we were dealin' with Randall."

He glosses right over the panic attack, which I appreciate. I flash him a look of gratitude and he nods.

"And… and then the herd got him?" Lori asks Rick.

There's a silence as Rick gathers himself. The look on his face tells me all I need to know about Shane's death, and it had nothing to do with the herd.

"We're all infected," he blurts.

Holy shit. That makes sense. That's how Randall turned without a bite. How did Rick…  _ Jenner. _

"What?" Daryl asks, voice clipped.

"It's in our blood," I say flatly. "Isn't it?"

Rick eyes me, nodding solemnly. We all have it. We're all gonna come back, no matter how we die. It's gonna happen to all of us.

"Son of a bitch," I mutter.

"At the CDC, Jenner told me," Rick explains. "Whatever it is… we all carry it."

"And you never said anything?" Carol demands.

"Would it have made a difference?" He counters. 

"You knew this whole time," Glenn says accusingly.

"How could I have known for sure?" Rick protests. "You saw how crazy that-"

"That isn't your call!" Glenn cuts him off. "Okay, when I found out about the walkers in the barn, I told for the good of everyone!"

"Well I thought it best that people didn't know," Rick snaps, turning and walking away abruptly.

Well, ain't this just fucking dandy?

*Daryl's POV*

Shane's dead. About time, it would've happened eventually. We're all infected. Those are the bombshells Rick dropped on us today, but that ain't what's occupying most of my mind. I keep finding myself thinking about Adrienne, pressed up against my back. I ain't stupid, I know what Carol's doing. Scared of the bike, my fucking ass. I must've slipped. Looked at Adrienne too long or something. Carol's observant, she must've picked up on the feelings I don't want to have for Adrienne. I shouldn't be thinking about it, but I am. I can't help it, she just has this way. She's easy to be around. She wears her heart on her sleeve, and that keeps her honest. I ain't gotta guess with her. But I'm a piece of shit. The hell'd a girl like that want with a redneck sumbitch like me? I'm the asshole she brings her car to when it don't run. Before this world, I'd have been shit to a girl like her.

Only sometimes... sometimes she just smiles at me. She hangs around me for no reason, chatting about nothin'. She holds my hand, tells me to be safe. I think she means it. I've been looking for reasons she might have to lie, waste her time playing with my head, and I keep coming up empty. World like it is now, she ain't got a reason. I hope.

*Adrienne's POV*

Despite all that's happened, I'm still just sitting here pathetically pining away for Daryl. Because that matters now, right? Crushes, unrequited feelings, that's what's important in the apocalypse. Jesus, what the fuck is the matter with me? People just  _ died, _ for Christ's sake.

We're all huddled around a low fire in that old stone foundation, and I can't keep from staring at Daryl as the light from the flame dances across his skin. I'm mesmerized by him. He really is beautiful. Maybe not classically good looking, whatever the hell that means, but attractive in a way a guy sporting a three piece suit and a pompadour cut could never be. He knows what it takes to survive, he's been doing it long before the dead started walking. He's clearly no stranger to pain, but here he is, trying anyway. There's just something about him, his way… he's the type of man who just screams danger, but I don't think I've ever felt as safe around another man as I do around Daryl.

I don't think he realizes that the only reason we're all together is because he made it so. He gathered everybody, managed to get them all rounded up on the highway. Rick didn't do that. Daryl's a natural leader, whether he's comfortable with it or not. This group depends on him just as much as we depend on Rick, maybe more, even. And he's sitting alone, still on the fringes of the group, even now. With a sigh, I get to my feet and cross over to him.

"Hey," I murmur, plopping down heavily in the dirt beside him.

"Hey," he echoes, eyes never leaving the fire, chewing his thumb. "You warm enough?"

"Mhmm."

It's silent for a while, but it's not the kind I'm comfortable with. It feels like there's something hanging in the air between us, words hovering in our periphery, just out of focus. Like there are things that need to be said. Things like _I'm glad you're safe_ or _I don't know what I'd_ _do if you weren't here right now._ Maybe that's just in my head, though. I risk a glance at him, eyeing him from beneath my lashes. He's glaring into the fire. Yeah, it's just me. I'm sure he's still thinking about the disease coursing through our veins. Of Rick and how he didn't tell us. Shit I should be thinking about.

"We're not safe with him," Carol announces, perching herself on the other side of Daryl. "Keepin' something like that from us?"

"He didn't know if Jenner was tellin' the truth,'' I point out, eyeing Rick where he stands several yards from the rest of us. "He's a cop, kinda their thing not to cause unnecessary panic."

"Why do you need him?" Carol whispers, attention on Daryl. "He's just gonna pull you down."

"Nah," Daryl shakes his head. "Rick's done all right by me."

"You're his henchman," she counters. "And I'm a burden. You deserve better."

What the hell is she doing? I admit, Rick is a little unhinged at the moment. But it sounds like she wants Daryl to leave with her and maybe I'm selfish or biased, but Rick's right. We're safer together.

"What do you want?" Daryl demands sharply.

"A man of honor."

Oh.

Well, if she has feelings for Daryl, why the hell did she insist upon the whole bike, Adie let me take your seat bullshit? Maybe she's just rattled over Rick's state right now, scared. Certainly she's gotta have some kind of codependency issue, she was married to Ed, for Christ's sake. That has to be it. She sees Rick slipping and views Daryl as the only other man here who can protect her. Lori is eerily silent, just listening. Why the hell isn't she defending her husband?

"Rick has honor," Daryl points out.

"I think we should take our chances," Maggie pipes up.

"Don't be foolish," Hershel chides. "There's no food, no fuel, no ammo."

"We're up shit creek right now," I sigh, raking a hand through my hair. "And y'all may not agree, and you don't have to, but he's right. Stayin' together's stayin' alive. We've survived worse than  _ one _ night in the woods, come on, now."

Before anyone can argue, something rustles in the trees. I spring to my feet, Daryl right beside me, the two of us back to back, scanning the area for potential threats.

"What was that?" Beth asks, frantic.

"Could be anything," Daryl replies as the rest of the group rises. "Could be a raccoon, could be a possum."

"A walker," Glenn adds.

"We need to leave," Carol insists. "I mean, what are we waitin' for?"

"Which way?" Glenn questions.

"It came from over there," Maggie points.

"Back from where we came," Beth says gravely.

"Yeah," Maggie nods.

"The last thing we need is for everyone to be runnin' around in the dark," Rick scoffs, joining the conversation. "We don't have the vehicles. No one's travelin' on foot."

"Don't panic," Hershel soothes as the rustling continues.

"I'm not… I'm not sittin' here waitin' for another herd to blow through," Maggie announces. "We need to move, now."

"No one is goin' anywhere," Rick snarls.

"Do something!" Carol hisses.

"I am doin' somethin'!" he retorts. "I'm keepin' this group together, alive! I've been doin' that all along, no matter what. I didn't ask for this! I killed my best friend for you people, for Christ's sake!"

Carl's face goes white and he begins to cry, burying his face in his mother's chest. No one in the group dares say anything. What can they say, really? We all knew things were gonna give eventually. Again, I find myself thinking of the single gunshot we'd heard last night. Just one.

"You saw what he was like," he spits. "How he pushed me, how he compromised us, how he threatened us! Look at  _ Adrienne. _ You think she ran away because, because he wanted to have  _ tea?! _ "

He lets the question hang and the group's eyes are all suddenly on me. Daryl inches forward, angling his body in front of mine, shielding me from them.

"He staged the whole  _ Randall _ thing," Rick continues. "Led me out to put a bullet in my back. He gave me no choice! He was my friend, but he came after me. My hands are clean," he regards the group, eyes steely and hard. "Maybe you people are better off without me. Go ahead. I say there's a place for us, but maybe, maybe it's just another pipe dream. Maybe, maybe I'm foolin' myself again. Why, why don't you, why don't you go and find out yourself? Send me a  _ postcard! _ Go on, there's the door."

No one moves. No one says anything. I exchange a glance with Daryl, my eyes filled with worry. Rick's losing it, he's scaring them.

"You can do better?" He demands. "Let's see how far you get. No takers? Fine. But get one thing straight. You're staying, this isn't a democracy anymore."

Jesus Christ.

"Okay, Napoleon, let's slow our roll," I blurt, sidling up to Rick.

He looks like he might hit me, but I put my hand on his arm and keep going.

"No one's leavin' tonight,'' I state firmly, casting a sweeping gaze over the fearful group around me. "I know… I know it doesn't feel like it, but we're a hell of a lot safer here together than we would be separated, wanderin' around in the dark like. Look, if you wanna leave, just… just put that shit in a box 'n keep a lid on it, just for tonight, and if you still feel that way in the mornin' we'll figure it out then," I pause, eyeing Carol. "If you're gonna leave, at least wait 'til you have light on your side. Anyone leavin' now is just… food."

I step off my soapbox and make my way past Daryl, slumping down against one of the walls, knife in hand.

"Y'all just gonna stand around lookin' at each other all night?" I demand when no one moves. "Sit down until there's an actual threat, for god's sake."

At that the group huddles back around the fire, settling in for the night. No one's going anywhere. Yet.

"Napoleon?" Daryl questions, standing beside me.

I look up at him and pat the dirt next to me, and, after a moment's hesitation, he sits.

"As in Bonaparte," I admit with a grin and he snorts, amused. "First diva dictator I could think of off the cuff."

"Glad you said somethin'," he muses.

"They're scared," I murmur, looking at all the anxious faces around us. "We were gonna have a goddamn  _ mutiny _ on our hands if somebody didn't say somethin'."

"Mm," he grunts in what I think is agreement.

I eye him. He's staring straight ahead, chewing his lip.

"You thinkin' about leavin'?" I question quietly.

"Nah."

Without really thinking about it, I drop my head to rest on his shoulder. He flinches, still not used to being touched. It breaks my heart because I know at one time or another someone's touch wasn't kind. But I'm patient or maybe I'm just stubborn. I leave my head right where it is. He doesn't protest, the tension slowly leaving his shoulders as he adjusts, and I can feel the pathetic, lovesick smile spread across my face. Before either of us can say anything else, I catch movement in my periphery. It's Glenn jerking his head pointedly in our direction, smirking, his gaze on T-Dog, who's glaring at us. What the hell? Daryl clears his throat, shrugging away from me and rising to his feet.

"I'm gon' walk the perimeter."

He lopes off, practically sprinting in the opposite direction, and I'm left wondering, once again, what I've done wrong.


	27. It's Pretty Romantic

**Chapter 27**

I have no idea how long we've been on the road. All winter and spring. At least six months, closer to seven, if Lori's belly is any indication. It's summer again, but god only knows what month it is. Early, maybe May or June? Keeping track of the days feels pointless anymore. We've been doing the same shit every day, get up, pack up, keep moving, scavenge for anything that even remotely resembles food, find shelter, run, run, run. Lather, rinse, repeat. Lori seems to be getting bigger every day, her belly swelling with life despite living each day in peril. I can't help but think it's futile. I hate myself for it, but I just don't see how a baby's gonna survive the kind of life we have to live now.

We picked up a truck out near Senoia a couple months after the farm went up. It's not the most fuel efficient way to do things, but we need the space to store what precious little we've managed to scrape together. The downside to this is that I no longer have a valid reason to put my arms around Daryl and, as absolutely fucking  _ ridiculous _ as it is, I'm really missing being on the back of that bike. Even starving and on the run from an ever-present threat, thoughts of Daryl still dominate my mind more than any other single subject. It's bullshit, particularly considering the man barely even looks at me these days. The only contact I've had with him over the last several months has been borne strictly out of necessity, only on the coldest nights when we'd all piled together for warmth. Even then, it had been nothing more than his back pressed against mine while T, Beth, or sometimes even Rick or Carl nestled against my chest. I can't complain too much. I was never cold.

"We got no place left to go," T-Dog points out.

We've spread a map out, having just fled a house we couldn't stay in because, as per usual, the dead found us. The house contained nothing of use, with the exception of a large barn owl, which we'd eaten, saving the feathers for Daryl's arrows. We ran. That's all we do now. We run and we're good at it.

"When this herd meets up with this one, we'll be cut off," Maggie announces, pointing to a couple of the herd locations we'd marked on the map. "We'll never make it south."

"What would you say, it was about 150 head?" Daryl questions, appearing by my side and leaning over the hood.

"That was last week," Glenn points out.

"Could be twice that by now," I sigh, not looking at Daryl.

If I don't look at him maybe I can focus. He's too close to me. I can't think. I back away from the car, round the group, and stand on the other side. It doesn't help much.

"This river could've delayed them," Hershel says hopefully, pointing to the map. "If we move fast, we might have a shot to tear right though there."

"Yeah, but if this group joins with that one, they could spill out this way," T-Dog counters.

"So we're blocked," Maggie says flatly.

"Only thing to do is double back at 27, swing toward Greenville," Rick says.

"Yeah, but didn't we go through there already?" I question.

"Yeah, we did," T confirms. "It's like we spent the winter goin' in circles."

"Yeah, I know," Rick nods. "I know. At Newnan, we'll push west. Haven't been through there yet. We can't keep goin' house to house. We need to find someplace to hole up for a few weeks."

I follow his gaze to where Lori sits in the Chevy, more exhausted and disheveled than any of us. He's right, she's gonna be due real soon and she can't very well pop out a screaming little human here in the middle of nowhere, herds all around.

"All right. Is it cool if we get to the creek before we head out?" T questions. "Won't take long. We gotta fill up on water, we can boil it later."

"Knock yourself out," Rick waves him off.

"She can't take much more of this movin' about," Hershel says, watching Lori.

"What else can we do?" Rick demands. "Let her give birth on the run?"

"It's lookin' like there might not be another option, Rick," I sigh.

"Hey," Daryl calls. "While the others wash their panties, let's go hunt. That owl didn't exactly hit the spot."

He and Rick head off into the woods and I debate following them but fuck, if Daryl was interested, or even wanted me around at all, he'd have said so. He's spent all winter studiously avoiding me. Hell, even when it's our night to take watch, he barely says a word to me. I make my way down to the creek to help T-Dog, Maggie, and Glenn instead. I don't need to wash my panties. The gross reality is that it won't do a damn bit of good to soak them in water. Hygiene is a distant memory.

*Daryl's POV*

Rick ain't much of a talker these days, not when he don't have to be. Mostly he just worries silently. I don't blame him. He's got a lot to worry about. Keeping Carl alive, his pregnant, estranged wife. She's gotta be due any time now. His silence is good for hunting, though, I ain't gonna complain. Unfortunately, it does allow thoughts of a certain redhead to creep in.

She avoids me now. I guess that's fair, I ain't exactly been friendly with her. That look I saw on T-Dog's face after the farm, that first night, when Adrienne was leaning on me… I dunno what the hell to think. They ain't together, or if they are, they're a lot more considerate about it than Maggie and Glenn. There's been nights I wanted to drive an ice pick through my eardrums. They ain't loud or nothin', but some sounds just can't be helped. They try, but privacy ain't a thing anymore. Only thing I know for sure is Adrienne and T-Dog ain't sleeping together. Not that it's my business. She used to try. Talking to me, I mean. I just keep pushing her away. I don't know why, I just do it. If I let myself think, even just for a second, she cares about me and it don't turn out to be true… I ain't gonna risk that. Better not to get attached. 

We ain't too far from the road, just about a mile down the train tracks, when I see it.

"That's a shame," I mutter, Rick and I stopping to eye the state prison we've just happened across.

The yard is full of walkers. We'd never get through. But Rick… he's staring at the place like we just found the holy goddamn grail.

*Adrienne's POV*

We've filled every available vessel with water and are mostly packed up and ready to go by the time Rick and Daryl return. Rick explains to us they've found a place to stay. With walls, fences. There's just one small issue.

"Are you insane?" I hiss, glaring at Rick. "A prison?"

"It's the best option we've had so far, Adrienne," he says calmly. "There are walkers in the yard, we'll have to play it right, but we get in there, we have access to food, shelter,  _ medicine. _ "

I am overruled. Apparently not a single damn one of my companions share my concern that marching into a federal facility intended to keep people  _ inside _ might not actually be the brightest idea. There could still be prisoners holed up in there. Felons.  _ Dangerous _ people. But the possibility of food and walls in the near future outweigh any concern for safety. Rick has assured me that we'll be smart about this, clear and secure the yard before checking out the actual interior, but I still feel like we're risking a hell of a lot on a gamble.

Yet here we are, Rick clipping through the chain link separating us from the walkers in the yard. Maggie and Glenn tag team a walker, Glenn pinning it to the fence and Maggie driving the claw of her hammer into its skull.

"Watch the back side!" Daryl orders.

"On it," I reply, already scanning the treeline behind our group as they start to slip through the hole in the fence.

"Adie! Hurry!" Rick hisses, and I turn to find him and Daryl holding open the fence for me, everyone else already on the other side.

I scurry through and Glenn weaves an orange cable through the unbroken links on either side of the opening, pulling it shut like a stitched wound just as another walker flings itself against the fence. We find ourselves on a gravel pathway that runs the perimeter of the yard.

"It's perfect," Rick announces once we've all reached the gate to enter the yard itself. "If we can shut that gate, prevent more from filling the yard, we can pick off these walkers. We'll take the field by tonight."

"So how do we shut the gate?" Hershel questions.

"I'll do it," Glenn volunteers. "You guys cover me."

"No," Maggie protests. "It's a suicide run."

She's right. It  _ is _ suicide, and too many people depend on Glenn. I don't wanna die, but… they don't need me, I'm expendable. I've been on the fringes of the group for weeks, if I go down it's not gonna matter like it would if it were Glenn or Rick or Daryl.

"I'm doin' it," I announce, meeting Rick's eyes. "I'm just as fast as Glenn, faster if we're honest. Don't argue, it's a waste of time, I'm doin' it."

After a moment's hesitation, Rick nods his assent.

"Glenn, Maggie, Beth, T-Dog, draw as many as you can over there," he orders, pointing. "Pop 'em through the fence. Daryl, go back to the other tower. Carol, you've become a pretty good shot. Take your time, we don't have a lot of ammo to waste. Hershel, you and Carl take this tower."

Everyone scatters as directed, Glenn placing a chain with a lock on each end in my hands before taking off with Maggie and the others.

"I'll cover you from here," Rick assures me as he, Lori and I step towards the outer gate. "Once that gate's closed, get up in that tower and don't stop shootin' til they're all down."

I nod and square my shoulders, pulling my knife from my belt as he opens the gate. I take off, tearing across the yard like a bat outta hell. Bullets are flying, walkers dropping like marionettes whose strings have just been cut. An arrow zips past my head, an errant bullet pierces the ground at my heels, and I'm  _ alive. _ It's sick, I know, but I feel exhilarated. Happy. I don't think I realized how dull and empty and fucking  _ useless  _ I've been feeling until this very moment, and the adrenaline feels euphoric. For the first time in a long time, I'm doing something that feels like it matters.

I reach the gate on the other side of the field, the one that separates the prison from the yard, yanking it closed just as another small group of walkers approach from the building, quickly securing it with the hooks. Walkers are shambling towards me. I drive my knife through the skull of the closest one, shoving its body at the two behind it, knocking them down like bowling pins, and duck into the nearest guard tower, a single walker on my heels. I slam the heavy steel door onto its head, crushing its skull against the frame, before yanking the door shut behind me and hurtling up the stairs onto the platform.

"Light it up!" Daryl shouts the moment I emerge, gun drawn and spirit soaring.

I did it. Together, we take out the two dozen or so walkers still milling about the yard. The hard winter on the road has served us well, not a single bad shot among us, and within minutes we have the yard cleared. I head down from the tower and into the yard as a significantly happier group filters in through the gate on the other side.

"Woo!" T-Dog crows, snatching me up off my feet and whirling me around.

"I still think I'm the fastest," Glenn pouts, and I toss my head back in laughter.

T puts me down and Rick claps my shoulder and now I remember why I'm here. These people are my family. I love them all, I've even come to love Hershel for the Bible thumping good ol' boy he is. We're gonna be just fine.

*Daryl's POV*

She did it. One of these days, her need to be in the middle of everything's gonna get her killed. But it ain't today. She seems lighter. I'm watching her as T-Dog spins her around, her head thrown back in laughter, when I'm struck by how beautiful she is. Again. I don't know if it's the way the light's hitting her just right, them unruly crimson waves suddenly igniting into a fiery halo around her face, or if it's just how she looks when she's smiling, but the way she  _ looks _ right now... damn near knocks the wind outta me.

"You wanna race, Glum?" She teases as T-Dog places her back on her own feet. "Settle this like men?"

"See somethin' you like?" Carol whispers conspiratorially.

Fuck. I can feel my face turn hot and I scoff, turning away. Why is it every time I catch myself watching her, Carol's right here ready to climb directly up my asshole about it? The smirk on her face reminds me of Glenn. I caught the same damn look on his face that first night after the farm when Adrienne had been leaning against me. Smug bastard, smiling like he knew some shit. I've done my best to avoid her since that night. It got easier to do when we scavenged that truck from one of the houses we'd stayed in for a night and Adrienne started riding with T-Dog instead of me. I thought once her arms weren't around me every goddamn day I'd be able to stop thinking about her, but I think I got used to her touch and I miss it and I fucking  _ hate  _ that.

Thoughts of her consume me while I watch over the group around the fire we'd built in the middle of the yard. I mostly watch Adrienne. Adrienne, playing rock, paper, scissors with Carl while Carol cooks up possum steaks. Adrienne, chasing Glenn across the yard with a stick 'cause he thought dumping a couple fistfulls of grass in her hair was a  _ good  _ idea. Adrienne, barely picking at her meal before insisting Lori take the rest. She needs to eat more, she's too goddamn skinny. Gonna need her strength if this place ain't what we're hoping it is.

Rick is obsessively checking the perimeter, looking for any sign of a weak link or possible security breach, while I pace back and forth atop a prison bus that's been turned on its side near one of the gates, neither of us quite ready to rest easy just yet. I keep thinking about Adrienne's fear that we ain't alone here, but so far the only threats have been walkers, and we took 'em all out. My eyes are eventually drawn to Carol when she grabs a dish and starts towards the bus with it, placing it at my feet. I offer her a hand and she takes it, allowing me to pull her up.

"It's not much," she says apologetically. "But if I don't bring you somethin' you won't eat at all." 

She's right.

"I guess little Shane over there's got quite the appetite," I murmur, digging in.

"Don't be mean," she says, but she's smiling and I know she thinks it's funny even if it is mean. "Rick's gotten us a lot farther than I ever thought he would, I'll give him that."

"Mhmm."

I had faith in him, though. He's a good man.

"Shane could never have done that," she adds, wincing and rolling her shoulders.

"What's wrong?"

"That rifle? The kickback," she mutters rubbing her shoulder. "I'm just not used to it."

"Hold on," I tell her, setting my plate down and sucking meat grease from my fingers.

I motion for her to turn around so I can rub her shoulder, try to work some of that soreness out. It ain't weird until she flashes me a look of appreciation I don't know what to do with. Does she think this is weird? Does she think I'm a creep for touching her? She gonna try and make something out of it later?

"Better get back," I grunt, dropping my hands.

"It's pretty romantic," she says, turning toward me with a bemused look.

Is she joking?

"Wanna screw around?"

She's fuckin' joking. I scoff and she giggles, and the discomfort eases some knowing that she's just giving me shit. Who the fuck would've guessed that the closest friend at this point in my life would be a former battered housewife? It's a little ironic, given what my dad was. Not that I had friends before, really. Just Merle.

"I'll go down first," I announce, wanting to be able to help her off the side of the bus.

"Even better," she teases with a lascivious grin.

"Stop."

This woman is ridiculous.

"You know, Adie looks at you, too," she says softly once we're both on the ground, heading towards the fire.

I don't know what to say to that, so I just stay quiet. I don't want to get my damn hopes up for something that ain't gonna happen. Especially the way I've treated her lately, barely saying a word to her, blowin' her off every time she tries to talk to me. Carol's wrong. If that girl looks at me, it's with nothing but contempt.

*Adrienne's POV*

"Mmm," Glenn hums sarcastically, tossing a picked bare possum rib into the grass. "Just like mom used to make."

"Beats starvin'," I point out, passing my second piece of rodent to Lori.

"I can't take this," she balks.

"Yes, you can," I insist. "You need to. I'll be fine, I'm full."

It's a lie and she knows it, but she also knows the baby in her belly needs all the nutrients it can get. I'm sure there's more than one rodent lurking in this field and besides, if the prison ends up being what Rick thinks, there'll be a whole mess of canned food in there. Carol snags a few pieces of meat, placing them in a small, metal dish we'd picked up while we were still on the road, and wanders off to give it to Daryl.

He's on watch already, pacing back and forth along the side of a prison bus that had been overturned. I'm glad she's taking him something. If she doesn't, he'll just go hungry. None of us eat like we should be, but, damn it, I wish he'd eat more. He never takes more than a bite or two of anything and he needs his strength.

"Tomorrow we'll put all the bodies together," T-Dog plans aloud. "Wanna keep 'em away from that water. Now, if we can dig a canal under the fence, we'll have, uh, plenty of fresh water."

"And this soil is good," Hershel adds, sifting a handful of dirt through his fingers. "We could plant some seed, grow some tomatoes, cucumbers, soybeans…"

He trails off, eyes on Rick as he makes yet another pass around the yard. Surely if there's a weak spot, he'd've seen it. I have a feeling it has more to do with avoiding Lori than anything else. Her growing belly is a constant reminder that Shane spent a lot of quality time with his wife. There's a pretty strong possibility the baby isn't his, and I think he's trying to get over that, but… I sure as hell couldn't, if I was in his shoes.

"That's his third time around," Hershel observes. "If there was any part of it compromised, he'd have found it by now."

"Can't blame him for bein' thorough," I sigh.

"This'll be a good place to have the baby," Beth announces, offering Lori a small smile. "Safe." 

There's a lull in the conversation and I find my eyes flickering over to Carol and Daryl. I'm surprised to see his hands on her shoulders. She's been sore, I know, from the kickback on the rifle she'd been firing earlier. It's just... the way he's touching her, it looks so intimate. Something angry and desperate claws at my insides, tears pricking at the backs of my eyes.

"Adie?"

I swallow my jealousy, tearing my gaze from them only to be met with Glenn's questioning eyes.

"Hm?"

"You okay?"

"Fine, why?" I smile, but it's too big to be genuine and he just laughs.

"Liar."

"Shut up," I mutter, elbowing him in the ribs while Maggie watches on with the same look an amused mother gets when her children bicker.

"Bethy?" Hershel's soft voice interrupts. "Sing Paddy Reilly for me. I haven't heard that I think since your mother was alive."

"Daddy, not that one, please," Maggie says, worried eyes on her sister.

"How 'bout uh," Hershel thinks for a moment. "Partin' Glass?"

"No one wants to hear," Beth says, embarrassed to be put on the spot.

"I do," I murmur quietly, her eyes snapping up to meet mine.

"Why not?" Glenn shrugs, smiling encouragingly.

"Okay," she concedes, still looking nervous.

Then she opens her mouth and her voice is so sweet and soft I can't help the tears immediately welling in my eyes. Daryl and Carol join the group, followed by Rick, and we all listen as Maggie joins her sister and they sing together in perfect unison.

"Oh, all the comrades that e'er I had were sorry for my goin' away and all the sweethearts that e'er I had would wish me one more day to stay…"

My mama used to sing this song to me. She couldn't carry a tune in a bucket, but she never let that stop her singing. Maggie reaches across Glenn's lap and grabs my hand, eyes lighting up when she sees I'm mouthing along. She nods, trying to coax me into turning their duo into a trio, but I can't. I shake my head, wrapping my arms around my body, my gaze settling on the flames while the Greene sisters finish out the poignant tune.

"But since it falls unto my lot that I should rise and you should not, I'll gently rise and I'll softly call goodnight and joy be with you all. Goodnight and joy be with you all."

"Beautiful," Hershel breathes.

Tears are slipping down my cheeks in earnest now, the song tugging at something inside my chest as their voices fade into the black night. I think about mama. I think about how I rose when she didn't and how she deserved life so much more. I get to my feet, turning and walking away from the group.

*Daryl's POV*

Adrienne's crying. Hell, there are a few sets of teary eyes in the group. I ain't never heard that song before, and Beth and Maggie have nice voices, but them words ain't exactly what I'd call uplifting. Adrienne flees, taking off in the direction of the bus.

"Better all turn in," Rick murmurs, eyes flickering from her retreating form back to the group around the fire. "I'll take watch over there. Got a big day tomorrow."

"What do you mean?" Glenn questions.

"Look, I know we're all exhausted," Rick says softly. "This was a  _ great  _ win. But we gotta push just a little bit more. Most of the walkers are dressed as guards 'n prisoners. Looks like this place fell pretty early. It could mean the supplies may be intact. They'd have an infirmary, a commissary."

"An armory?" I blurt, thinking about all them bullets we used clearing this yard.

"That would be outside the prison itself, but not too far away," Rick confirms with a nod. "Warden's offices would have info on the location. Weapons, food, medicine. This place could be a  _ gold mine. _ "

"We're dangerously low on ammo," Hershel points out. "We'd run out before we make a dent."

"That's why we have to go in there hand to hand," Rick announces. "After all we've been through, we can handle it, I know it. Adie's got trainin', we can show you how. These assholes don't stand a chance."

With that, he's done talking. He wanders off to take watch, Lori on his heels. The rest of the group settles, but I can't yet. Adrienne ain't back.

"You worried about her?" Carol murmurs, eyeing me knowingly.

"You ain't?"

"So, go get her," she prompts, nudging me with her elbow before dropping to her knees and rolling out her sleeping bag.

Hell. Might as well. I ain't gonna be able to sleep if she ain't close.

*Adrienne's POV*

I know it's not right, but I  _ envy _ Beth.

Maggie and Carl, too. I would give anything to even just see my mother again, just for a day. Five minutes would be enough. Anything to get the chance to apologize, to hold her and tell her how much I love her just one more time, hear her tell me how it's all gonna be okay. That it's not my fault, that one day things are gonna  _ be okay. _

Carl's got Rick and Lori. Beth and Maggie have Hershel. I've got no one left in the world who gives a damn about me like a parent should, like they're supposed to. I scale the overturned bus and lay flat on my back, staring up at the sky, tears continuing to flow ceaselessly. I wipe them angrily away, hating myself for them. Crying won't bring her back. I haven't been gone long, maybe five minutes, but someone's climbing the bus. I don't care. It's Glenn or T, come to drag me back to the group.

"Hey."

Daryl. I keep my eyes to the sky as he sinks down beside me.

"You all right?" He questions softly.

I consider ignoring him. He doesn't get to be my friend for ten minutes at a time out of pity and then go right back to pretending I don't exist the rest of the time. After more than a minute of my stony silence, though, he still hasn't moved. I sigh, sitting up and folding my arms across my body defensively.

"It's my fault my mama's dead," I blurt, watching the stars.

"No it ain't," he counters immediately.

"Yes," I say, glancing at him. "It is."

He's silent, his eyes cast upward as he chews his lip, considering. When it becomes clear he's not gonna argue again, I continue.

"I was at some," I laugh bitterly, scoffing. "Some party. Years ago, way before…" I gesture vaguely, unable to put the shitstorm around us into words. "Didn't know anybody there, couldn't even find the friend who invited me," I murmur. "This  _ guy… _ this guy offered me a drink and that's all I… that's all I remember before…" I sniff, shaking my head and dragging my palms across my eyes. "I was at this gas station  _ miles _ away from where I was supposed to be, no shoes, no car, wallet, no  _ nothin'... _ middle of the night  _ the next day, _ didn't know how I'd got there. So I called her, you know, mama can you, can you come get me," my voice breaks, the stars blurring at the edges as more tears form in my eyes. "She didn't even hesitate. Asked where I was, told me to stay put, she'd be, she'd be right there... she was hit by a drunk driver less than a mile from her house, died on impact. She… she didn't even know she was dyin', she was just  _ gone, _ she just..."

I trail off, voice dissolving into choked sobs. I pull my knees to my chest and bury my face. He lets me cry for a bit, not leaving my side.

"I'm sorry," I croak eventually, lifting my head when the tears finally slow.

"You ain't got nothin' to be sorry for," he says softly.

He doesn't try to fix it, tell me it's not my fault. No bullshit. He just sits with me, watching the stars.

"Sometimes…" I trail off, shaking my head.

"What?" He prompts, glancing my way.

"I just sometimes feel like I don't belong," I admit quietly, sniffling. "Like I'm not supposed to… like my bein' here or… or  _ not _ bein' here doesn't make a difference. Sometimes."

"You gon' leave?" He demands, suddenly closed off and fearful. "Opt out?"

"No," I shake my head adamantly. No, I'm too selfish for that. I can't… I can't lose you all, I... it's just a feelin' I get sometimes. I'm  _ tryin', _ though, you know? I'm just… I'm not used to givin' a shit about so many people, bein' part of somethin'. Havin' so much to  _ lose. _ "

He softens, regarding me from beneath his lashes. He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't need to. I know he understands, it doesn't need saying. He's felt like an outsider his whole damn life. He isn't, though. Not here, not to these people. Not to me.

"We should get back," I tell him after another minute or two.

He nods, slipping off of the bus and holding a hand out to help me climb down. I take his hand, letting him hold me steady while I slide from the bus to the ground. He doesn't let go immediately, neither of us moving just yet. I glance at him, met with cautious eyes. But there's something else there in his gaze, a sort of fearful curiosity. And tenderness. Hesitantly, I place my arms around him and bury my head in his chest.

"Thank you," I murmur as he relaxes into the embrace.

"Didn't do nothin'," he grunts.

"Yeah, you did," I counter, pulling back to look at his face. "You listened. You stayed."

I brush the hair from his eyes, gently cupping his cheek, and he leans into my touch. Bravery seizes me, or maybe just stupidity or desperate masochism, I don't know, but… if I don't do it now, I never will. I lean forward and press my lips to his. He doesn't react immediately, but after a beat or two I feel one of his hands fluttering awkwardly at my side. I place my hand over his, guiding it gently to rest above my hip as his lips press fleetingly against mine before abruptly breaking away. He stares into my eyes searchingly, a million questions unspoken between us. I smile softly and press one more chaste kiss to his lips, and we turn and walk side by side back to the group in silence.

My entire body is on fire. He kissed me back! I know I must look ridiculous, but I can't help the giddy smile etched upon my face. Somehow, kissing him feels like the first time, like I've never been kissed. He's so careful, so guarded… every small touch or gesture feels like Christmas. When we make it back to the group, everyone's hunkered down for the night except Rick. He's apparently taking first watch. We'll have to get a system in place sooner or later, rotate shifts, if we're gonna stay. But I'm not gonna think about that right now. I'm gonna think about how, for the first night in god knows how long, all the people I love are fed and safe. Daryl settles down near me and I drift to sleep, content in knowing he's close, the ghost of his lips on mine.


	28. Home Sweet Home

**Chapter 28**

"I told you, man," Glenn's whispered voice filters into my ears, not quite rousing me from my sleep.

"Man, shut the hell up," T-Dog whispers incredulously. "You woke me up for this? Don't hit me with that summer camp bullshit. Hell, nah. Go to sleep."

"I'm just sayin'," Glenn retorts. "They look pretty cozy to me."

What the fuck are they talking about? I decide I don't give a shit, snuggling into the warmth behind me. Then the warmth behind me moves, placing an arm securely over my waist and I realize. Someone's holding me. Now suddenly quite awake, I open my eyes, squinting as they struggle to focus in the dark. I glance down. No fucking way. Daryl's arm is around me. He's fast asleep, his slow, steady breaths tickling my neck when he exhales. Smiling to myself, I nestle in and drift back into peaceful oblivion.

-

When I wake, Daryl's gone. Did I dream it? Must have. I sit up and stretch, the group around me groggily doing the same. Everyone's here, with the notable exceptions of Daryl and Rick.

"Mornin'," I greet hoarsely, the sentiment garnering several murmured responses.

"So…" Glenn starts, sidling up to me with a sly look on his face. "How'd you sleep?"

"Uh… fine?"

"So… so all you did was sleep?" He questions meaningfully, a smirk creeping onto his face.

"Glenn, it's too early for your shit," I groan, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. "What the hell do you want?"

"We saw-"

"Leave it alone, man." T-Dog warns, watching as Daryl and Rick approach.

"We're gonna talk later," Glenn promises.

But I'm not listening. I'm watching Daryl. The way he moves with such confidence. Swagger is the only word for it and it's a complete contradiction of his behavior. You'd never guess how shy he is just watching him. He looks up suddenly, catching me staring like some kind of fucking creep. His ears turn red and he averts his eyes. Shit. I don't mean to make him uncomfortable. Seems to be a bad habit of mine. Rick gathers everyone around and we discuss the plan for the day. I keep my eyes on him, studiously avoiding Daryl. I feel terrible for staring all the time, that shit probably makes him like some kind of circus freak. And, let's be real here, not looking at Daryl is the only way I'll be able to focus on the task. I know, I'm pathetic. But at least I know my limits.

*Daryl's POV*

It's barely dawn and I'm awake because something moved, I felt it. I'm not prepared for what greets me when I manage to crack my eyes open. Crimson waves, glowing even in the silvery gray light of early morning, crushed against my chest. My arms are around her. I'm _ holding  _ her. Christ. I disentangle myself as carefully as I can, praying to whatever the fuck might be listening that she don't wake up and catch me touching her. I find myself up and walking towards Rick, who is still roaming the perimeter.

"Mornin'," he nods.

"Hey," I grunt. "You gon' sleep before we push in? I'll keep watch."

"Later," he mutters dismissively, clearly not looking for a debate. "Adrienne okay? She seemed a little… upset last night."

Oh, Christ. No one else is awake yet, and I'd been grateful for that, thinking maybe nobody saw… whatever that was. Rick, though… he's been up all night. He  _ definitely _ saw.

"She's all right," I tell him uncomfortably, suddenly regretting coming over here.

"Thank you," he says quietly. "For bringin' her back, stayin' with her. She doesn't know it, I don't think, but we need her. And she needs us. All this… this only works if we're together."

"She ain't goin' nowhere."

"Yeah," he murmurs. "Maybe."

"She ain't," I assure him. "She cares too much to jus' leave."

He just hums his agreement, the two of us falling into companionable silence as the sun rises. He ain't yelling at me. Him and Adrienne have gotten close, bonded over the time we've been on the road, and I'm a little surprised he ain't giving me some kinda big brother, touch her again and I'll kill you talk. Not that I would. Touch her again, I mean. Not that I want to. Oh, Jesus, I do want to, though.

"We should head back," Rick says eventually, gesturing to the group now in various states of rising. "Give 'em a plan."

As we approach the camp, my eyes are drawn immediately to Adrienne, stretching, sitting cross-legged atop the tattered old throw blanket she'd slept beneath despite it being too short to cover her feet and shoulders at the same time. Glenn's telling her something, her brows knit, her nose wrinkled slightly as though she's thinking hard about whatever it is he's saying. I watch as she rubs her eyes sleepily, responding to Glenn as T-Dog steps into their discussion, his gaze on Rick and I. Glenn's eyes flicker to us, then back to Adrienne.

"We're gonna talk later," he tells her, but her eyes are now glued to me.

She knows. She knows I… I don't even know, pulled her to me in my sleep? Jesus. I can't look at her. God damn it. She probably thinks I'm a fucking creep.

*Adrienne's POV*

"Ready?" Hershel questions, eyes on Rick at the gate separating us from the actual penitentiary. 

Separating us from the walkers and whatever the hell else lies beyond the prison walls. Rick flings open the gate, and Hershel closes it behind us. He, Lori, Carl, Carol, and Beth are staying on the other side. Their job is to make as much noise as they can, drawing the walkers away from the six of us on the prison side of the gate, killing them through the fence. Rick, Daryl, Maggie, Glenn, T, and me are in a sort of star formation, backs together as we move through the walkers, killing only those that get too close.

"Keep it tight!" Daryl shouts.

"Don't break rank!" Rick orders.

"We need that!" T insists, breaking away to snatch a police issue shield from the ground.

"Not more than we need you!" I snap, rushing towards a walker making its way towards T-Dog and burying my knife in its skull.

"Adie!" Rick barks, exasperated.

T and I scramble back into formation.

"Almost there," Rick says, pushing open a door on the prison as we fall in line behind him.

Unfortunately, we've encountered a problem.

"Shit!" Rick hisses, spotting a large group of walkers around the corner.

We hadn't been able to see them from the yard. Several are in riot gear.

"Oh, come on," I seethe. "What is this shit, Dead Space?"

Abandoning formation altogether, we go after the walkers. I hurl myself at one sporting a gas mask, yanking its head back by the mask straps and plunging my knife upwards through the underside of its jaw.

"Daryl!" Rick cries, fighting off walkers as he attempts to get to yet another god damn gate.

Daryl bludgeons a walker and sprints towards Rick, the two men yanking the gate shut, securing at least two dozen walkers behind it. This leaves only the walkers in riot gear to deal with, and they jump back into the fray. Once they're handled, we start back to the yard for the others, Glenn breaking into a run.

"Stop," Rick orders, still scanning the area we'd cleared.

"Well, it looks secure," Glenn protests.

"Not from the look of that courtyard over there," Daryl points out. "And that's a civilian," he adds, gesturing to a dead walker in street clothes.

"So the interior could be overrun with walkers from outside the prison," T-Dog sighs.

"The yard is secure, so there's a breach somewhere  _ inside _ the prison," I mutter breathlessly, wiping my knife on my jeans. "Walls down on the other side, probably. Ain't that some shit."

"Well, if there's walls down, what're we gonna do?" Glenn questions. "We can't rebuild this whole place."

"We can't risk a blind spot," Rick says heavily. "We have to push in."

He heads towards a fenced off ramp, a walkway that appears to lead directly into one of the cell blocks. We follow him, Daryl pulling open a door, watching Rick's back as he enters the darkened corridor. It's quiet. Rick pushes open a cell door and we file inside behind him, T-Dog pulling the outer door closed with an ominous clank. Without the light from outside, we're plunged into near total darkness.

We quietly move about, separating to search the cell block we've found ourselves in. It appears to have been evacuated. Abandoned. Rick pulls keys on a body in some sort of security booth, using one to unlock the cell door sanctioning off the actual prison cells. Walking through the block, it becomes clear there was some kind of struggle. Whether it was a riot or walkers isn't immediately apparent.

I follow Daryl and Rick up a set of stairs leading to the upper level of cells. There's a loud metal clanging echoing through the place, and a couple snarling walkers fling themselves against cell doors as we pass. With a sigh, I thrust my knife through the eye socket of the first walker, Daryl quickly dispatching the second as Rick opens the cells, and the two of them heave the bodies over the railing, dropping them to the ground below, while I check out inside the cells. These poor people must've starved to death, locked in here from the very beginning. It's a horrendous death, even if they had been criminals. Hell, I've done shit I should've been locked up for, probably.

-

"What do you think?" Rick questions as the rest of the group shambles inside with our scant belongings.

"Home sweet home," Glenn says flatly.

"For the time being," Rick nods.

"It's secure?" Lori asks, looking around.

"This cell block is," Rick assures her.

"What about the rest of the prison?" Hershel questions.

"In the morning, we'll find the cafeteria and infirmary," Rick decides.

"We... sleep in the cells?" Beth asks haltingly, looking around the block with wide eyes.

"I found keys on some guards," Rick informs her. "Daryl has a set, too."

"I ain't sleepin' in no cage," Daryl announces. "I'll take the perch."

At that, everyone heads off to select a cell. Everyone but Daryl, who dumps his pack on the concrete landing at the top of the stairs. He'd gone back to ignoring me today but, to be fair, we've been focused on other shit. Still though, I kissed him. There's no taking that back. And now I'm nervous. Maybe it was too much, maybe he's not into it, what if he's disgusted by me? I think… I think I want to be with him. But what if he doesn't want that? What if wanting to be in a relationship right now is crazy? Sure, it's working out for Glenn and Maggie, but they're...  _ Glenn _ and  _ Maggie. _ Of course it's working.

Why the fuck isn't there a rule book for dating in the apocalypse? I was never the type to date before. Not that we're even dating. Not that he'd even consider it. Maybe I imagined the kiss last night, so desperate for some kind of connection with him that I dreamed the whole thing up. I've never felt this way before. I used men for one thing, to let them use me. Never with the same person twice, at least not until Chris, but Chris... well, that was a relationship borne almost strictly out of convenience. Before my mama got me cleaned up, I was always off chasing the next high, the next warm body to temporarily fill the aching void in my soul. Then she died and I thought my soul went with her and I met Chris. Hell, even with him, it didn't feel real.

I'm used goods. What the hell would Daryl want with me?


	29. Back the Way We Came

**Chapter 29**

"Knock knock," Glenn interrupts my stewing, leaning against the door frame and peering into my cell.

"Why aren't you with Maggie?" I question sulkily.

"He is," Maggie chuckles, stepping around Glenn and into my cell.

"I distinctly remember telling you we'd be talking," he adds, sinking onto the end of my bunk. "I just need to know one thing. Are you sleeping with Daryl?"

"What?" I hiss, glaring at him. "No, I'm not sleepin' with Daryl."

"Oh, come on. We saw you last night, you were… snuggling," he smirks.

Suddenly I recall the whispered conversation between Glenn and T in the middle of the night.

"That was real?" I blurt, flushing.

"Looked pretty real to me," Maggie grins. "You should go talk to him."

"Yeah," Glenn agrees. "And when you uh… seal the deal, I need you to come directly to me, okay? Do not pass go, do not collect $200. I bet T-Dog this would happen  _ months _ ago."

I scoff, punching Glenn in the arm, and leave the laughing couple in my cell to go talk to Daryl. He's sprawled out on his landing, head resting atop his pack, staring at the ceiling.

"Hey," I murmur, reaching the landing and taking a seat on the top step of the stairs.

"Hey," he grunts, eyes still on the ceiling, glaring as though it's wronged him in some way.

"So… how was your day?" I question, smirking.

I know damn well this day sucked for all of us.

"'Bout as good as any," he replies softly.

"I'm sorry," I blurt, his curious gaze landing on me. "For last night. I… if I made you-"

"You didn't make me do nothin'," he scoffs.

"I didn't?"

His gaze softens as his eyes land on mine.

"Nah."

"So… so you're not mad, then?"

Ugh. Pathetic.

He scoffs again, regarding me with equal parts amusement and disbelief.

"I ain't mad."

"Oh," I reply after a moment, not sure what else to say. "Um… well, good. I wasn't sure you'd want to talk to me again. If you were, uh... if you were okay with it or not."

He's chewing his goddamn lip again and I'm terrified. But I need to know.

"So… so was it okay?" I question, dropping my gaze to the floor, bracing myself for the answer I don't want to hear. 

I wait. He doesn't say anything. Well. I guess I know now, at least. He's not mad, but it wasn't okay. It's unfathomably stupid but my heart shatters. I can feel the tears pricking my eyes already and quickly lurch to my feet, trying not to look like I'm fleeing while fleeing to my cell. So much for that. I shouldn't have allowed myself to entertain the idea that he'd be into me. God, 27 years old and crying like a teen whose  _ 'do you like me, check yes or no' _ note had just been returned with a hastily scribbled  _ 'X' _ in the  _ 'no' _ box. After the note had been shown to the entire class, of course.

Regardless of age, it still stings like a bitch. I can't sleep for shit, despite how tired I am, and by morning I've decided to just avoid Daryl forever. Should be easy enough, it's not like we're stuck together, locked in a prison full of dead people, or like our continued survival is dependent upon our little group working as a team. It'll be fine. Avoiding him is definitely an option. Yeah.

"Yo, Adie, check it!" T calls excitedly the moment I set foot outside my cell.

Of course. Of course Daryl just happens to be at the table with Hershel, Rick, and T. My eyes widen at the veritable arsenal they'd procured from the armory. It's impressive.

"You went without me?" I demand, marching over to the table.

"You needed sleep," Hershel soothes.

"Not bad," I admit, taking in the haul.

"Flashbangs, CS triple chasers…" Rick muses, eyeing several grenades they'd found. "Not sure how they'd work on walkers, but we'll take 'em."

"Uh, yeah," I agree, and then I spot it. "Holy shit! Is that a Glock 19?"

"How the hell do you know that?" T asks incredulously as I pluck the weapon from the table and examine it.

"Why's that such a shock?" I question sharply, checking the cartridge.

He's staring at me like I just spoke fluent Russian.

"I took a class!" I snap defensively.

"Adie," Rick says, watching me with amusement. "You wanna carry that one?"

"Hell yeah, I do," I reply, almost giddily, checking the safety and tucking it into the back of my waistband.

"I ain't wearin' this shit," Daryl huffs, eyeing the rotten, liquefied flesh oozing from the riot mask in his hand.

"We could boil 'em," T suggests doubtfully.

"Ain't enough firewood in the whole damn forest, no," Daryl counters, testing the heft of a nightstick he'd snatched from the table. "'Sides, we made it this far without 'em, right?"

"Hershel?" Carol interrupts, materializing in the doorway and beckoning the doctor to come with her.

"Everything all right?" Rick questions.

"Yeah, nothin' to worry about," Carol assures him as she and Hershel scurry from the room.

"You know you're gonna have to talk to her eventually, Rick," I murmur, referring to Lori, watching his worried eyes follow them.

"I'm doin' things," he says cooly, as if daring me to argue.

I don't, so he begins to lay out a plan for us. We have to find the cafeteria, the infirmary, the breach. Once we've hashed out as many details as we can, we start suiting up. Rick thrusts a riot helmet towards me.

"Hell, no," I scoff.

I glare at it, knowing that even though it looks clean enough it still, until quite recently, was full of walker rot. 

"I don't want anyone's body on my body."

Glenn snorts pointedly.

"Shut up, Glenn," I mutter, face turning hot.

I hand the helmet to Carl, who is fascinated with this shit the way most young boys are.

"You won't need that," Rick tells him, snatching it right back out of his hands. "I need you to stay put."

"You're kidding," he protests, visibly affronted.

"We don't know what's in there," Rick explains. "Somethin' goes wrong, you could be the last man standing."

"What about Adie?" He demands, absolutely incensed. "She always gets to go!"

"That's 'cause no one cares if I get myself eaten," I chuckle.

"I need you to handle things here," Rick informs him, ignoring my shithead remark.

"Sure," Carl nods, accepting the responsibility.

"Great. Let's go," Rick orders.

He, Maggie, Glenn, Daryl, Hershel, T-Dog and I file out of the cellblock, armed and ready to fuck shit up. We venture further into the prison, blindingly white flashlight beams illuminating the grisly, picked over bones of the litany of corpses littering the floor as we silently make our way through otherwise pitch dark hallways. It's quiet, no snarls or growls to be heard. Just leaky old pipes and the friendly prison rat population, squeaking and skittering about, unbothered by our presence here.

The silence is broken only by Glenn, spray painting large, white arrows onto the wall each time we turn a new corner, breadcrumbs for us to follow back home, until a loud thud echoes through the hallway. We turn yet another corner and damn near collide with a group of inmates turned walker.

"Go back!" Rick hisses frantically, backing up. "Go back, go back!"

We retrace our steps, hauling ass. But it would seem there are multiple groups of them and we turn a corner into another crowd.

"Come on, this way!" Daryl cries.

We tear after him, reaching a small alcove where we can catch our breath and figure out how to get out of this. Glenn and Maggie are missing, somehow having gotten separated from the rest of us in the chaos.

"Where's Glenn and Maggie?" Rick whispers.

"We have to go back!" Hershel insists, concern for his daughter etched into his face.

"But which way?" Daryl questions.

"Back the way we came," I murmur, Rick nodding.

We cautiously tiptoe back through the corridor, checking each corner for Maggie and Glenn. Or walkers. Everything is silent until Hershel's screams pierce the air.

"Shit!" I hiss, tearing after the sound.

He's on the ground, blood pouring from his calf, a walker beside him, chewing on his flesh. Rick fires a round into its head just as I reach Hershel, Maggie and Glenn meeting us from the opposite direction. They both appear no worse for wear, but the relief is short-lived. The noise has attracted more walkers.

"Daryl! Adie!" Rick barks, he and Glenn carefully lifting Hershel from the ground.

Back to back, Daryl and I fire into the closest walkers, but there are more than we can worry about right now.

"Run!" I cry.

We hurtle through the corridors, finding ourselves blocked every which way, Hershel bleeding out before our very eyes, until we reach a set of double doors, handcuffed shut.

"Open the door!" Rick yells, and T rushes forward with a pair of bolt cutters.

We manage to get inside the room, shoving the doors closed just as a group of walkers catches up to us, including one in riot gear. Daryl flings his back against the doors as T slips a pipe through the handles, securing the room for the time being.

"Hold him down," Rick orders, fashioning his belt into a tourniquet as the group gathers around Hershel. 

T-Dog is left at the doors, trying to hold them shut on his own. Deciding there are enough of us tending to Hershel, I rush back to the doors and hurl myself against them, rooting myself in place, watching in horror as Rick produces a hatchet and hacks the lower portion of Hershel's injured leg off.

"Oh…" Rick murmurs faintly, swaying in place as nausea visibly takes hold of him. "He's bleedin' out."

"Duck," Daryl whispers, suddenly springing to his feet, bow raised.

I glance in the direction he's aiming. Jesus Christ. We're not alone. There's a group of inmates, five of them, huddled behind a serving counter. This is the cafeteria, those cuffs on the doors were keeping these guys inside.

"Holy shit," one breathes, hands raised.

Holy shit, indeed.


	30. It's Just a Scratch

**Chapter 30**

"Who the hell are you?" Daryl growls.

"Who the hell are you?" An inmate counters.

"He's bleedin' out, we gotta go back,'' Rick says frantically. "Come around here. Put pressure on the knee!" He orders, Glenn and Maggie obeying. "Hard! Hard! Push, push."

"Why don't you come on outta there?" Daryl questions. "Slow 'n steady."

"What happened to him?" The first inmate to file out questions, pointing at Hershel.

"He got bit," Daryl informs him, never lowering his crossbow.

"Bit?" He asks, pulling a gun from his waistband.

T and I spring forward, weapons drawn.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Daryl soothes, the armed inmate aiming at T and I in turn. "Easy now. Nobody needs to get hurt."

"You have medical supplies?" Glenn demands, heading into the room they'd been hiding in.

"Whoa, where do you think you're goin'?" The armed inmate questions, but just then the doors rattle, the walkers on the other side becoming agitated.

"That's not gonna hold," I mutter.

"Who the hell are you people, anyway?" The inmate with the gun demands, waving his weapon about in a fashion that tells me he has no idea what he's doing.

"Don't look like no rescue team," another pipes up, eyeing us.

"If a rescue team's what you're waitin' for, don't,'' Rick grunts as Glenn wheels a metal cart out of the back room. "Come on, we gotta go!"

"Holy Jesus!" One of the inmates exclaims, watching with wide eyes while Rick, Glenn, and Maggie heft Hershel onto the cart.

"Yeah, you fuckin' think?" I snap.

"T, the door!" Rick orders.

"Are you crazy?" An inmate protests. "Don't open that!"

"We got this!" T snarls.

He and I exchange a glance, moving to flank the exit. T pulls the pipe from the handles and the doors fly open, the riot gear walker on the other side charging into the room. I grab its head, yanking it back as T drives the pipe up through its jaw. It drops, and we're off and running.

"Daryl!" Rick barks.

Daryl, still somewhat hesitant to leave the inmates behind, backs out of the room, crossbow trained unwaveringly upon the armed stranger. They let us leave in peace, and we tear through the corridors back towards our cell block. It's looking like we're home free until we hear the cafeteria doors open.

"Follow the flashlight," a voice echoes through the hallway.

Fuck. We reach the cell block, Rick and the others shuttling Hershel straight inside enjoy Daryl and I hang back, watching the outer door. Sure enough, the inmates cautiously shuffle through it less than a minute later.

"That's far enough," Daryl orders as they file through the door.

"Cell block C," the armed inmate observes. "Cell 4, that's mine, gringo. Let me in."

"Today's your lucky day, fellas," Daryl counters, bow held steady. "You been pardoned by the state of Georgia, you're free to go."

"What you got goin' on in there?" A soft-spoken inmate questions.

"It ain't none of your concern," Daryl growls.

"Don't be tellin' me what's my concern," Cell 4 snaps, drawing his gun.

"Wanna put that thing down until someone shows you how to use it?" I demand, Glock aimed directly at his head.

"I know how to use it,  _ puta, _ " he snarks, eyeing me up and down with a smirk. "Don't make me mess up that pretty little head."

"Chill, man," another inmate chides. "Dude's leg is messed up. Besides, we're free now. Why are we still in here?"

"Man's got a point," Daryl says.

"Yeah, and I gotta check on my old lady," the soft-spoken inmate adds.

"Group of civilians breaking into a prison you got no business being in…" Cell 4 trails off, eyes on Daryl. "Got me thinkin' there ain't no place for us  _ to _ go."

"Why don't you go find out?" Daryl hisses.

"Maybe we'll just be goin' now," an inmate with a mustache says nervously.

"Hey, we ain't leavin'!" Cell 4 insists.

"You ain't comin' in, either!" T-Dog barks, rounding the corner with his gun drawn.

"Hey, this is my house, my rules," Cell 4 announces. "I go where I damn well please."

"You're  _ outgunned, _ " I point out. "And you're outnumbered."

"Relax, sweetheart," Cell 4 chuckles, striding cockily toward me. "Let me show you around my turf."

"Touch her 'n you're dead!" Daryl snarls.

"C'mon, man," one of the inmates groans. "Let's go."

"We were here first!" Cell 4 snaps. "This is our house. We just gonna let these cats take it?"

"Take a good look around, this is as far as you're goin'," Daryl hisses. "I ain't gon' tell you again."

Cell 4, in a thrilling show of incredible stupidity, starts inching his way forward, closer to me. Probably thinks I'm the easiest target, being the only woman in the room. Jackass. He keeps his gun trained on Daryl, though, eyes never leaving the archer's face as he steps slowly, deliberately towards me.

"Don't you take another step," Daryl says lowly. 

"Or what?"

"I'll kill you. I ain't playin'."

"Yeah?" Cell 4 scoffs, gesturing at me with the barrel of his gun. "Before or after I waste the bitch?"

"Please," I scoff. "You got one gun. What's to stop us takin' you out right now?"

"You ain't gonna do nothin'," Cell 4 smirks, and it takes everything I have in me not to pull the trigger.

"I'm gettin' tired of your mouth," Daryl barks.

"Why don't you come over here and shut it?" Cell 4 demands.

"There ain't nothin' for you here," Daryl snarls. "Why don't you go back to your own sandbox, stick your head in the dirt?"

"Hey, hey, hey!" Rick cries, rounding the corner. "Everyone relax. There's no need for this."

"How many of you are in there?" Cell 4 asks.

"Too many for you to handle," Rick warns.

"You guys rob a bank or somethin'?" Cell 4 questions suspiciously. "Why don't you take him to a hospital?"

A derisive snort escapes me before I can stop it.

"A  _ hospital? _ " I question incredulously.

"How long you been locked in that cafeteria?" Rick asks solemnly.

"Goin' on, like, 10 months," Cell 4 replies.

"Riot broke out," one of the inmates explains. "Never seen anything like it."

"Attica on speed, man," Mustache adds.

"Ever heard about dudes goin' cannibal, dyin', comin' back to life?" Another one questions. "Crazy."

"One guard looked out for us, locked us up in the cafeteria," Cell 4 continues the story. "Told us sit tight, threw me this piece, said he'd be right back."

"Yeah, and that was 292 days ago," another inmate announces.

"94, accordin' to my-" Mustache begins.

"Shut up!" Cell 4 barks.

"We were thinkin' that the Army or National Guard should be showin' up any day now," another inmate murmurs.

I almost feel bad. Almost.

"There is no Army," Rick says flatly.

"What do you mean?" Cell 4 demands.

"There's no government, no hospitals, no police," Rick continues. "It's all gone."

"For real?" Mustache questions.

"Serious," Rick assures him.

"What about my moms?" The largest inmate asks.

"My kids? And my old lady?" The quiet one demands. "Yo, you, you, you got a cell phone or somethin' that we can call our families?"

"You jus' don't get it, do you?" Daryl snaps.

"There's nothin' left," I hiss.

"No phones, no computers," Rick explains. "Far as we can see, at least half the population's been wiped out."

"Probably more," I add, watching the confusion on the inmates' faces as they struggle to process the information they're being given.

"Ain't no way," Cell 4 blurts, like this is some kind of bluff he can call bullshit on.

"See for yourself," Rick spits, and we lead them outside.

"Damn, the sun feels good," one inmate remarks.

"Good lord," Mustache exclaims, taking in the carnage around him. "They're all dead."

"Never thought I'd be so happy to see these fences," Cell 4 announces.

"You never said, how the hell'd you get in here in the first place?" One of the inmates questions curiously.

"Cut a hole in that fence over there by that guard tower," Daryl tells him.

"That easy, huh?" The inmate asks.

"Where there's a will, there's a way," Daryl mutters, a taunting edge to his voice.

"Easy for you to say," the inmate scoffs.

"So what is this, like a disease?" The big inmate asks, poking at one of the bodies on the ground.

"Yeah," Rick nods. "And we're all infected."

"What do you mean, infected?" Mustache demands. "Like AIDS or somethin'?"

"If I was to kill you," Daryl explains. "Shoot an arrow in your chest, you'd come back as one of these things. It's gonna happen to all of us."

"Ain't no way this Robin Hood cat's responsible for killin' all these freaks,'' Cell 4 scoffs, glaring at Daryl. "Must be fifty bodies out here."

"Wanna fuck around and find out?" I demand, my weapon still aimed squarely at his head.

"Where'd you come from?" He questions Rick, ignoring me.

"Atlanta," Rick informs him.

"Where you headed?" He asks, challenging.

"For now,  _ nowhere, _ " Rick says firmly.

"I guess you can take that area down there near the water," Cell 4 offers graciously, adorable in the way he still thinks he's in charge. "Should be comfortable."

"We're using that field for crops," Rick counters.

"We'll help you move your gear out," Cell 4 continues, still not quite grasping my willingness to put a bullet in his brain if he doesn't cooperate.

"That won't be necessary," Rick says cordially. "We took out these walkers. This prison is ours."

"Slow down, cowboy," Cell 4 retorts.

"You snatched the locks off our doors," the smallest inmate snaps.

"New locks can be arranged," I hiss.

"This is our prison," Cell 4 announces. "We were here first."

"Locked in a broom closet?" Rick asks sweetly, chuckling. "We took it, set you free. It's ours, we spilled blood."

"We're movin' back into our cell block," Cell 4 counters.

"You'll have to get your own."

"It  _ is _ mine," Cell 4 protests. "I've still got personal artifacts in there, that's about as mine as it gets!"

"Not anymore, sweetheart," I simper, Glock still aimed for his head. "See, cell four's mine, now. Cleaned it out soon as I moved in. I'm sure you understand."

I actually have no idea which cell number I'd settled in. We were all too exhausted to give a shit.

"God damn it, Adrienne," Rick sighs, exasperated, as Cell 4 once again whips out his gun.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa," Mustache cuts in. "Maybe let's try to make this work out so everybody wins."

"I don't see that happening," Cell 4 says threateningly.

"Neither do I," Rick says, refusing to back down.

"I ain't goin' back in that cafeteria for one more minute," Cell 4 announces.

"There  _ are _ other cell blocks," Mustache points out.

"You could  _ leave, _ " Daryl suggests. "Try your luck out on the road."

"If these three pussies," Cell 4 starts, eyes flickering to my face. "And their  _ pet _ can do all this, the least we can do is take out another cell block."

"With what?" I scoff. "Your  _ one _ gun and a coupla sticks?"

Their  _ pet.  _ When we kill this guy, and there's no doubt in my mind we're gonna have to, I hope I'm the one to do it. Pet. What a bitch.

"Atlanta here will spot us some real weapons," Cell 4 demands, staring Rick down. "Won't you, boss?"

"How stocked is that cafeteria?" Rick questions. "Must have plenty of food. Five guys lastin' almost a year?"

"Sure as hell don't look like anybody's been starvin'," Daryl points out.

"There's only a little left," Cell 4 tells us.

"We'll take half," Rick bargains. "In exchange, we'll help clear out a cell block."

"Didn't you hear him?" The smallest inmate demands. "There's only a little left."

"Bet you got more food than you got choices," Rick counters. "You pay, we'll play. We'll clear out a block for you, then you keep to it."

"All right," Cell 4 concedes, defeated.

"But let's be clear," Rick adds. "If we see you out here, anywhere near our people, if I so much as even catch a whiff of your scent, I will kill you."

"Deal."

The inmates lead us back to the cafeteria without another word, but I smell bullshit. Cell 4 agreed way too easily. He's gonna try something, I can feel it.

"Pantry's back here," he announces.

"You never tried to break outta here?" T-Dog questions.

"Yeah, we tried to take the doors off," the quiet inmate tells him. "But you make one peep in here, then those freaks'll be lined up outside the door growlin', tryna get in. Windows got bars on there that He-Man couldn't get through."

"Bigger 'n a 5x8," Mustache adds.

"Won't find me complainin'," the largest inmate says. "Doin' 15. My left leg'll barely fit on one of those bunks."

"Yeah, they don't call him Big Tiny for nothin'," the quiet one quips.

"You done jerkin' each other off?" Cell 4 demands from the doorway. "Sick of waitin' back here."

The inmates lead us into the large pantry, shelves stocked with an insane amount of dried, bagged, bottled, and canned food. Enough to last months, longer if you rationed right.

"This what you call a little bit of food?" Daryl asks derisively, eyeing the shelves.

"Goes fast," Cell 4 proclaims.

"Mhmm," Daryl huffs, shouldering past him to get a closer look at the inventory.

"Well, you can have a bag of corn, some tuna fish-" Cell 4 starts.

"We said half," Rick cuts in. "That's the deal. What's in there?" He questions, gesturing to a door to the left.

"Don't open that," one of the inmates advises, but it's too late.

"Jesus Christ," I hiss, the rancid stench of nearly a year's worth of human waste rolling from the room and hitting me like a freight train to the gut.

"He wanted to know," Cell 4 chuckles.

"Can't wait for my own pot to piss in," Mustache announces wistfully.

Rick and T-Dog head back to our cell block with the first load of food, leaving Daryl and I to watch over the bad guy brigade. Because of course. So far, my avoid Daryl plan isn't going too well.

"So what's your deal then, Red?" Cell 4 questions, ogling me. "Prime piece of ass like you with these clowns?"

I eye him coldly, refusing to engage.

"Shut the hell up," Daryl growls, glaring.

"What, she your old lady?" Cell 4 sneers. "Can't speak for yourself, Red?"

"Sure, I can," I shrug. "When the party I'm speakin' to is capable of intelligent conversation."

"Hey," Cell 4 murmurs conspiratorially, sidling up to Daryl. "You tappin' that? See, it's been a while since my last conjugal visit and I got some steam to blow off, you know what I'm sayin'?"

"Maybe you can work out a deal with one of your buddies," I snap, gesturing to the men surrounding him. "One more word, I'll shove this barrel so far up your ass you'll  _ taste _ metal before I pull the trigger."

"Adrienne," Rick warns, he and T having returned with several weapons for the inmates. "Knock it off."

I glare at him as he dumps the assortment of melee weapons onto a table before the inmates.

"Why do I need this," Cell 4 scoffs, selecting a pickaxe from the table. "When I got this?"

He brandishes his gun, apparently still under the delusion we should be impressed.

"You don't fire guns," Daryl explains, disdain dripping from his voice. "Not unless your back's up against a wall. Noise attracts 'em. Really riles 'em up."

The underlying threat in his voice is unmistakable.

"We'll go in two by two," Rick instructs. "Daryl will run point with T, you and Adie behind 'em," Rick points to Mustache. "I'll bring up the rear with you," he continues, pointing to the smallest inmate. "Stay tight, hold formation no matter how close the walkers get. Anyone breaks rank, we could all go down. Anyone runs off… they could get mistaken for a walker, end up with an axe to the head."

"'N that's where you aim," Daryl adds. "These things only go down with a headshot."

"You ain't gotta tell us how to take out a man," Cell 4 brags, like it's something to be proud of.

"That's the kind of unfathomable stupidity that's gonna get you killed," I hiss.

"They ain't men," T announces, placing a soothing hand on my arm. "They're somethin' else."

"Just remember to go for the brain," Rick commands.

"Do you know where that's located?" I question sweetly, earning myself an elbow to the ribs, courtesy of Rick.

The inmates arm themselves and lead us to the next nearest cell block without another word.

"Man, it's too damn dark in here," one of them complains, fumbling with his light as we work our way through the halls.

"Gotta hold it up high, out in front of you," Daryl instructs. "You're gonna hear 'em before you see 'em."

We haven't made it three more steps before there's a hand on me, roughly groping my backside.

"I will cut your hand off and  _ feed _ it to you," I whisper sharply.

"Adrienne!" Rick hisses.

"His hand is on my ass, Rick!" I snap, louder than intended.

Cell 4 squeezes, chuckling before moving his hand. Daryl whips around, grabbing him and pushing him up against the wall. Rick steps close to him, toe to toe, their faces less than an inch apart.

"You pull that again, I won't stand in her way when she kills you," he promises softly, eyes boring into the lecherous creep. "You  _ will _ treat her with respect, you will  _ not  _ lay another hand on her, or our deal is  _ done.  _ Think you can handle that?"

Cell 4 nods, attempting a glare, but I can see the fear in his eyes when Daryl doesn't let him go immediately.

"Touch her again, I'll gut you myself," he spits, pulling the creep forward and slamming him back into the wall before releasing him.

We're back on the move, everyone's hands where they're supposed to be, when there's a clanging in the distance, spooking the hell outta Mustache.

"It's coming!" He cries.

"Shh!" Rick hisses sharply.

A couple walkers shamble around the corner into our view and Daryl raises a hand, lifting his fingers to count us in. One, two… he doesn't get to three before the inmates charge, emitting ridiculous battle cries as they rush the walkers and begin landing blows everywhere but their heads. Rick, Daryl, T-Dog, and I just stare, all at a complete loss for words.

"You're fuckin' shittin' me," I breathe, eyeing the scene. "Why are we botherin'?"

We step in and quickly take out the walkers, despite the inmates' we got this, don't need nobody bullshit. Then we continue through the block.

"It's gotta be the brain," Daryl reminds them when we come across more walkers. "Not the stomach, not the heart."

He fires an arrow into the nearest one.

"The brain."

"I hear you. The brain," the quiet inmate murmurs, lunging towards the next walker and burying an axe in its head. "Like that?"

"Uh-huh," Daryl confirms as two more walkers approach.

Mustache takes one out, Rick dispatching the other.

"Stay in tight formation," Rick orders, several more walkers spilling into the corridor. "No more prison riot shit." 

We're taking them down as they come and it all seems to finally be clicking with these idiots, right up until anguished howls cut through the noise of the snarling and tearing of flesh. Big Tiny has broken rank. He’s surrounded by three or four walkers. Rick rushes to help him, only managing to take out one walker before Cell 4 whips out his gun and fires several rounds.

"What the hell was that?" I hiss, shouldering my way past him to inspect Big Tiny.

He's wounded, torn open just over his left shoulder blade.

"I'm telling you, I don't feel anything, it's just a scratch," he insists.

"I'm sorry, man," Rick says sincerely.

"I can keep fighting!" Big Tiny protests.

"You cut that old guy's leg off to save his life," the small inmate points out.

"Look where the bite is!" Rick retorts.

"Guys, I'm fine!" Big Tiny shouts. "Just… I'm fine. Look at me. I'm not changin' into one of those things."

"Look man, there has to be somethin' we can do," the quiet inmate -Oscar?- tries to reason. "We could just lock him up."

"Quarantine 'im!" Mustache pipes up.

"We gotta do somethin'!" Shrimpy says indignantly. "Why you just standin' there? We gotta save 'im!"

"There's nothin' we can do," Rick answers truthfully.

"You son of a bitch," Shrimpy huffs.

"I'm all ri-"

Big Tiny doesn't get a chance to finish. Cell 4 takes matters into his own hands, burying a pickaxe into his supposed friend's head, sending him sprawling to the ground, hesitating only a moment before landing several more blows. The display of brutality against one of his own is more than a little sickening. That wasn't a mercy kill. When the shock wears off, we're moving again, one man short. T-Dog and Oscar are leading us, Daryl, Rick and I bringing up the rear.

"We're gonna have to kill 'im," I breathe, staring at Cell 4 a few paces ahead. "You know that, right?"

"I know," Rick whispers, following my gaze.

"Knew that when he put his hands on you," Daryl points out softly, eyes boring into Cell 4's back. "You see the look on his face?"

"He makes one move…" Rick murmurs, trailing off.

"Just give me a signal," Daryl mutters darkly.


	31. Would it Kill You to Lie Sometimes?

**Chapter 31**

*Daryl's POV*

We've found ourselves in a laundry room, washing machines and dryers placed in neat rows running the length of the room. There's a set of doors on the opposite side from where we'd entered, a chorus of rattling and snarling giving away the walkers lying just beyond. I watch Adrienne as we gather around the door. She's planted herself just behind that handsy jackass, her hand poised over her gun, ready to draw at a moment's notice. She ain't afraid of him. That bothers me. Makes me think she's been around men like him before.

"I ain't openin' that," Handsy protests as Rick's keys land at his feet.

"Yes, you are," Rick orders. "If you want this cell block, you're gonna open that door. Just the one, not both of 'em. Because we need to control this."

Handsy picks up the keys, and we all brace ourselves as he approaches the doors, hesitantly sliding the key into the lock.

"You bitches ready?" He asks, stalling.

"For Christ's sake, no one's impressed," Adrienne snaps, exasperated. "Just open the damn door."

He yanks at the doors several times before they budge, flinging both wide open despite Rick's explicit instructions, and the walkers pour into the room.

"I said one door!" Rick barks.

"Shit happens!" Handsy retorts.

We're all forced to act in the chaos, our focus only on taking down the walkers before they get too close, at least until Handsy flings one of 'em at Rick and he goes down. Adrienne strikes immediately, managing simultaneously to take down her walker and kick Handsy's legs out from under him, sending the douchebag crashing to the floor.

"Adie, mind the gap!" I bark, lunging for the walker about to tear into Rick's face, plunging my knife into the back of its head and pulling Rick to his feet just as Adrienne's knife lands in the last walker's eye socket.

She yanks her blade free and whirls around, her eyes shooting daggers into Handsy's face as he picks himself up off of the floor.

"What the hell was that?" She demands.

"It was comin' at me, bro," Handsy says defensively, words ringing hollow.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," Rick assures him, nodding. "I get it.  _ Shit happens. _ "

The two men stare each other down for several loaded moments before Rick strikes, bringing his machete down hard upon the other man's skull, killing him instantly.

"No!" One of the other prisoners shrieks, moving to attack Rick.

But he ain't exactly a match, Rick kicking the smaller man to the ground before he can get a hand on him.

"Easy now," I murmur, crossbow aimed at the man on the floor.

He scrambles to his feet and tears off through the doors.

"I got him!" Rick says, chasing after him.

"Man, get down on your knees!" I order Oscar, who sinks to the floor, placing his weapon down in front of him.

"We don't have no affiliation to what just happened!" Axel insists, cowering on his knees under the threat of Adrienne's Glock. "Tell 'im, Oscar!"

"Stop talkin', man," Oscar sighs.

It's silent until Rick comes back. Alone.

"We didn't have nothin' to do with that," Oscar claims, Rick now holding him at gunpoint.

"You didn't know?" Rick questions disbelievingly. "You  _ knew. _ Daryl, let's end this now!" He cries, whipping around and pointing his gun at Axel.

"Sir, sir, you gotta listen to me, please!" Axel begs. "It was them that was bad, it wasn't us!"

"Oh, that's convenient!" Rick counters.

"You saw what he did to Tiny!" Axel insists tearfully. "He was my friend. Please, we ain't like that. I like my pharmaceuticals, but I'm no killer! Oscar here, he's a B 'n E, and he ain't very good at it neither."

Adrienne snorts out a slightly hysterical giggle, which she quickly stifles, face flushing. It is kinda funny, though. Of all the times to insult your friends.

"We ain't the violent kind, they were!" Axel continues, sobbing. "Please, I swear to god, I wanna live!"

Rick whirls around again, pressing his gun against Oscar's head.

"What about you?"

"I ain't never pleaded for my life," Oscar replies firmly. "And I ain't 'bout to start now. So you do what you gotta do."

"Rick?" Adrienne prompts, tucking her Glock into her waistband.

-

In the end, we decide to take them to their own block, in which the former occupants of the cells lay face down in the doorways. Shot. Each one, execution style. The riot broke out in C block, but here in D… this ain't no riot. It's too clean. Cops did this.

"Oh, man," Axel murmurs somberly. "I knew these guys. They were good men."

"Let's go," Rick orders.

"So you're just gonna leave us in here?" Oscar demands. "Man, this is sick!"

"Rick-" Adrienne starts, eyeing the remaining prisoners sympathetically.

"We're locking down this cell block," Rick says firmly, cutting her off. "From now on, this part of the prison's yours. Take it or leave it, that was the deal."

Adrienne scoffs and stalks back into the hallway.

"You think this is sick?" I question. "You don't wanna know what's outside."

"Consider yourselves the lucky ones," Rick adds, leaving.

"Sorry about your friends, man," I tell them sincerely, following Rick.

"A word of advice," T says quietly. "Take those bodies outside and burn 'em."

With that, the four of us head back to our group to check on Hershel.

"Hershel stopped breathing," Carl informs us. "Mom saved him."

"It's true," Glenn murmurs.

"Still no fever," Lori announces.

Everyone aside from Adrienne and myself crowd into his cell, she and I opting to stand just outside the bars. After a few moments, Hershel's eyes open and they're clear. Human.

"Daddy?" Maggie questions tearfully.

"Daddy!" Beth breathes, giggling with relief as Rick uncuffs Hershel's hand from the bunk post.

"I'll be damned," Adrienne murmurs, watching with tear filled eyes. "Tough son of a bitch."

Once it becomes clear Hershel's gonna be just fine, Lori steps out, Rick trailing after her. Good. Maybe now we've got a mostly safe place to stay and don't gotta worry so much about safety, they can finally work their shit out. And where the hell is Carol?

*Adrienne's POV*

Carol's hacking apart a walker. Practicing. It's kind of genius, using a cadaver to be sure she can successfully deliver Lori's baby. Hershel certainly can't do it, not in his condition. Still, I don't wanna watch. I leave her to it, heading up to one of the skywalks above the yard. To my dismay, Lori's here. Crying.

"Sorry," I mutter, hastily turning and making my way back to the door at the other end of the walk.

"Adie?" she blurts, voice cracking.

I turn back, taking in the red-rimmed eyes, her shoulders shaking with barely contained sobs, the  _ vulnerability _ written all over her body. I stride back to her, not especially wanting to chat but not wanting to leave her alone, either, not when she so clearly needs somebody to lean on.

"How…" she starts, trailing off and choking back a sob. "How do I fix this?"

I don't need to ask what  _ 'this' _ is. The weight of her broken marriage has been heavy on us all. Rick hardly speaks to her, Carl… well, he doesn't understand what happened, not really, and he's lashing out. Lori made mistakes, a lot of 'em, and she's paying for it dearly.

"Oh…" I sigh, squinting into the late afternoon sun. "I… I don't know if you can."

She lets out a hysterical sob, grinning.

"Shit, Adie," she laughs, wiping her tears away. "Would it kill you to lie sometimes?"

I smile sadly, rubbing her shoulder. I wish I could lie to her.

"I'm sorry," I tell her honestly. "But… I think Rick's tryin'. Give it time. What else are you gonna do? Divorce him?"

"I said the same thing," she chuckles, sniffling and wiping her nose on her sleeve. "I'm his wife. For better or worse, and right now… well, it's worse."

"Why'd you do it?" I blurt unthinkingly.

Her eyes flicker to mine, stricken.

"I'm sorry," I murmur, contrite. "I've just, um… I've been wonderin'. Tryin' to understand. It's not my business. God knows you're not the only person around here to ever sleep with someone you shouldn't've."

"I just… do you remember the night we found you?" She questions quietly, eyes boring into mine.

I do. Fear so palpable it felt like I was choking on it. Explosions, the smell of death and burning skin. The roar of the helicopters dropping napalm in the streets. I remember.

"Shane told me my husband was dead," she continues. "And I believed him, I… I had no reason  _ not _ to. Rick and I, we were high school sweethearts," she smiles fondly, turning her wedding ring around in circles on her finger. "I've known him and Shane almost my whole life. I never questioned it. If Shane said he was dead, he was dead and that was that. I never thought… and it was  _ killin'  _ me. And Shane… Shane got us out, got us away from that city. He kept Carl alive. And I couldn't… I couldn't feel it, I couldn't let myself…"

She trails off, waving her hand vaguely, at a loss. And I get it now. I've been there. I know what it's like to feel something so excruciating you'll do whatever it takes to feel  _ anything _ else.

"You used him so you didn't have to feel the pain," I tell her softly, and she nods. "I understand."

"I wish I could take it back, I'd do anything to go back and do things differently," she swallows. "But I can't and I don't know… I don't know if he'll ever forgive me, and I don't expect him to, but I just..."

"Hey," I soothe. "You're right. You can't take it back. You can't. And he might not ever be able to forgive you. But… maybe you need to forgive yourself, Lori. Try and move on because you have the chance. We can make this place safe, we can, we can stay here. Build a  _ home _ here. After the farm, I… I thought we were gonna run forever, but now? We can start over. Make a life worth livin' for each other and for, for Carl. For your baby. Maybe Rick'll never forgive you, maybe you can't go back to how things were before… but you can move forward."

She nods, offering a watery smile. I've said all I can say, and it's probably not enough, but it's true. This place could be a new start. It's safe. We can grow here. I take her hand in mine and lead her back inside, where I practically force feed her a tin of the ambiguously named  _ beef chunks _ before heading off to the laundry room we'd discovered with the inmates earlier today. I load up a laundry cart with clean towels, fresh sheets and pillow cases, several boxes of detergent, a couple large jugs of bleach, and spend the rest of the day scrubbing down the cells as best I can, attempting to wash the blood and brain matter from the walls. The floor. Stripping the bunks and remaking them with clean sheets.

Daryl called me Adie today. That's what I'm thinking about as I scrub a particularly stubborn stain from the wall in Glenn and Maggie's cell. It's the first time he's ever used the nickname.  _ Adie, mind the gap.  _ I hadn't planned on spending the entire day in such close proximity to him, and it pretty much sucked. He's the damn king of mixed signals. He barely acknowledges me most of the time anymore, but when Cell 4 harassed me today I thought Daryl was gonna slaughter him right there in the hallway.

To be honest, it felt nice. I've never had anyone stick up for me like that and for both Daryl and Rick to have my back the way they did... it's overwhelming. I'm grateful. I'm also a fucking moron, still hoping against hope Daryl has feelings for me. But if he did, he'd say so, wouldn't he? Suddenly heartsick and exhausted, I give up on the stain, heading to my own cell and flopping down onto my bunk.


	32. We've Had Worse

**Chapter 32**

The next morning, we actually have breakfast. It's surreal, sitting down at a table and eating at a normal hour instead of just whenever and wherever we happen to come across food.

"Adie, I need you in the yard," Rick announces, clapping me on the shoulder on his way outside.

I shovel one last spoonful of applesauce into my mouth and follow him, Daryl, T-Dog and Carol out to the yard. Rick rambles about all the shit we need to do today, starting with the vehicles.

"Okay, let's get the other car in," he says as Carol backs the truck through the gate, parking near the Chevy T had already brought inside. "We'll park 'em in the west entry of the yard."

"Good," Daryl agrees. "Our vehicles camped out there look like a giant vacancy sign."

"After that, we need to load up these corpses so we can burn 'em," Rick instructs.

"Gonna be a long day," T observes, eyes sweeping the field still littered with a few dozen bodies.

"Yeah, where the hell's Glenn?" I question, realizing the absence of a couple extra sets of hands. "And Maggie?"

"We could use some help," Carol adds, nodding.

"Up in the guard tower," Daryl informs us, pointing.

The guard tower? But they were just on watch last… oh.

"You're shittin' me,  _ again? _ " I hiss, flabbergasted.

"Guard tower?" Rick questions, apparently oblivious to the implications. "They were just up there last night."

"Glenn!" Daryl shouts, cupping his hand around his mouth. "Maggie!"

There's some fumbling inside the guard tower. These assholes. Seriously? The door opens and Glenn emerges, half dressed, still buttoning his pants. I snort, equal parts amused and incredulous.

"Uh, hey…" he greets awkwardly. "What's up, guys?"

"Unbelievable," I mutter as T, Carol, and Rick chuckle.

"You  _ comin'? _ " Daryl questions innocently.

"What?!" Glenn demands, stricken.

I can't help the cackle that escapes my lips. Poor Maggie. All she wanted was to spend time with her man, and here we are, a big ol' group of assholes, come to fuck up her day.

"You comin'?" Daryl repeats, snickering. "Come on, we could use a hand."

"Yeah, we'll, we'll, we'll be right down!" Glenn stutters.

"Maybe don't assign them the same shifts when we start guard rotation," I muse, Rick elbowing me and chuckling softly. "Hate to end up eaten 'cause those two were too busy makin' a pit stop in bone town to watch the yard."

" _ Bone town? _ " He repeats wryly.

"Hey, Rick," T-Dog interrupts, eyes on the prisoners who'd just shown up outside.

"Come with me," Rick murmurs, stalking towards the gate Oscar and Axel are now approaching from the other side of the fence.

I follow him, Daryl just behind me, T-Dog flanking Rick's other side.

"That's close enough," Rick commands, the prisoners coming to a halt. "We had an agreement."

"Please, mister, we, we know that," Axel says nervously.

Glenn and Maggie step out of the guard tower behind the prisoners, regarding them warily.

"We made a deal," Axel continues. "But you gotta understand… we can't live in that place another minute, you follow me? All the bodies… people we knew. Blood, brains everywhere. There's ghosts."

"Why didn't you move the bodies out?" Daryl demands.

"You should be burning them," T adds.

"We tried," Axel insists. "We did."

"The fence is down on the far side of the prison," Oscar informs us. "Every time we drag a body out, those things just line up... droppin' the body 'n just runnin' back inside."

"Look, we had nothin' to do with Tomas and Andrew," Axel says imploringly, inching forward. "Nothin'. You tryin' to prove a point, you proved it, bro. We'll do whatever it takes to be part of your group. Just please,  _ please… _ don't make us live in that place."

"Ri-" I start.

"Our deal is non-negotiable," Rick says flatly. "You either live in your cell block, or you leave."

"I told you this was a waste of time," Oscar mutters, casting an accusatory glance at his companion before turning his attention back to Rick. "They ain't no different than the pricks who shot up our boys. You know how many friend's corpses we had to drag out this week? Just threw 'em out like… these were  _ good _ guys. Good guys who had our backs against the  _ really _ bad dudes in the joint, like Tomas and Andrew. Now we've all made mistakes to get in here, chief. And I'm not gonna pretend to be a saint, but  _ believe me… _ we've paid our due. Enough that we would rather hit that road than to go back into that shithole."

Rick hesitates, turning to look at Daryl. Daryl shakes his head, and I'm not sure if it's a shake that means let 'em rot or don't make them go back in there. I feel like these guys aren't that bad, certainly not rapists or murderers. Axel's too dumb to pull off a successful murder, and I just don't get that vibe from Oscar. But it's decided and we gather around Rick while Daryl locks the inmates back behind the fence.

"I don't feel right about this," I murmur, Rick whirling on me like I'd just suggested we give them our guns and turn our backs.

"I don't either," T chimes in, backing me up.

"Are you serious?" Rick demands, glaring between T-Dog and I. "You want them living in a cell next to you? They'll just be waitin' for a chance to grab our weapons. You wanna, you wanna go back to sleepin' with one eye open?"

"You stopped?" I ask, eyeing him pointedly.

"I didn't," T says softly. "Bring them into the fold. If we send 'em off packing, we might as well execute them ourselves."

"I don't know, Axel seems a little unstable," Glenn points out.

"After all we've been through?" Carol questions. "We fought so hard for all this, what if they decide to take it?"

"How could they possibly hope to pull that off?" I retort. "We outnumber 'em, we sure as hell outsmart 'em. Look, we can, we can take precautions, lock 'em in their own cells at night, opposite ends of the block, make sure they don't have access to guns."

"It's just been us for so long," Maggie murmurs. "They're strangers, I don't… it feels weird, all of a sudden havin' other people around."

"You brought us in," T reminds her.

"Yeah, but you turned up with a shot boy in your arms," she counters. "Didn't give us a choice."

"They can't even kill walkers," Glenn adds.

"They each managed to take down a few when we cleared their block," I inform him. "They can learn to-"

"They're convicts, bottom line," Carol says harshly.

"Those two might actually have less blood on their hands than we do," T points out.

"I get guys like this," Daryl announces. "Hell, I grew up with 'em. They're degenerates, but they ain't  _ psychos. _ I could've been in there with 'em just as easy as I'm out here with you guys."

"So are you with me?" T asks hopefully.

"Hell, no," he scoffs. "Let 'em take their chances out on the road, just like  _ we _ did."

"What I'm saying, Daryl-"

"When I was a rookie, I arrested this kid," Rick cuts in, T falling silent with a frustrated sigh. "Nineteen years old, wanted for stabbin' his girlfriend. Kid blubbered like a baby during the interrogation, during the trial,  _ suckered _ the jury… he was acquitted due to insufficient evidence and then two weeks later, shot another girl. We've been through too much. Our deal with them stands."

He finishes and walks away, the rest of the group following in his wake save for T-Dog and myself. I offer him a sympathetic shrug and take his hand, squeezing.

"Sorry, T," I sigh, and together we follow in our group's footsteps. "I think we're the odd men out on this one."

We head back to the cars, Rick instructing us on where they need to be moved to. T isn't happy. I have mixed feelings about the whole thing. I don't believe they're a threat to us. There's a chance we're sending these men out to die and I don't feel right about that, not when they haven't actually threatened us. But on the other hand, I'd rather gamble their lives over ours.

"Twin cylinder, is that a Triumph?" Axel questions, interrupting my musing, as Daryl mounts his bike.

"Don't even look at it," Daryl mutters coldly.

"Come on, man," Axel whines, turning his gaze to me. "Hey, Adie, right? Th-"

"Don't look at her, neither," Daryl snaps, his engine roaring to life as he speeds off, ignoring Axel's desperate continued attempts at pulling him into bike talk.

"Man, will you just stop?" Oscar asks exasperatedly. "Have some balls."

I chuckle, stepping through the gate just before Glenn yanks it closed.

"Guess we're on supply gatherin' duty?" I ask Glenn, who nods. "Waste of supplies. They won't make it just the two of 'em."

"We can't risk it, Adie," he sighs, the two of us walking side by side into the cell block.

"I know," I mutter, snatching up an empty box.

We fall silent, picking through the canned goods and placing a week's worth into the box, along with a couple bottles of water. Really no need to be stingy now with the creek so close.

"Let me carry it," Glenn volunteers, taking the box from my hands as we head back outside.

"I'm fully capable, you know," I point out.

"I know, but I want to," he insists, squinting across the yard at Maggie in the distance.

"Such a gentleman," I tease, elbowing him gently. "I'm sure Maggie will be very impressed with your chivalry."

"Shut up," he retorts, blushing.

"Hey, at least someone's happy around here," I tell him sincerely. "I really am happy for you. Just don't leave any, uh… fluids in the guard tower."

"Fluids in the g- oh, my god, Adie," he sputters while I cackle.

"Sorry."

"No you're not."

"Nah, I'm not."

His face hardens as we approach the prisoners.

"There's enough food in there to last you guys a week," he informs them, locking them inside the chain link enclosure just outside the yard, separating them from us and our people still inside. 

I don't find that necessary, but what Rick says goes.

"We'll cut you loose when we get back," I assure them.

"Thank you," Axel murmurs, genuine gratitude in his eyes.

"Sit tight," Glenn replies, seemingly startled at the man's appreciation despite our decision to turn him and his friend away.

Glenn and I make our way over to the hole we'd cut in the fence, Rick and Daryl already waiting. We slip through the fence, spotting a walker a few yards away. It hasn't noticed us though, mindlessly wandering further away.

"Should I take her out?" Glenn questions, raising his gun.

"No," Rick cautions. "If that armory hadn't been picked clean, we could spare the ammo."

"I'll start makin' runs," Daryl volunteers. "Sooner the better."

"You shouldn't go alone," I reply, earning a withering glare from the bowman. "We should do runs in pairs, so no one's on their own if shit hits the fan."

"We'll throw as much wood as we can in the dog run," Rick instructs.

"Won't the fire attract more walkers?" Glenn questions. "Maybe we should bury 'em."

"We're behind a fence," I point out.

"It's worth the one time risk to get rid of the bodies for good," Rick adds, nodding. "I don't wanna be plantin' crops in walker rotted soil."

"Why, you afraid we'll get infected?" I question cheekily, plucking a large, dry stick from the dirt.

"Why don't you go play hopscotch with Carl?" Rick suggests, done with my shit already.

"Can't, Rick," I sigh, shaking my head gravely and snatching up another stick. "That kid's a fierce hop scotcher. I can't take another loss."

Glenn snickers, Rick rolls his eyes, and we continue on gathering anything we can find to feed our apocalyptic funeral pyre. When we've collected as much as we can feasibly carry, we head back to the hole in the fence.

"Looky here," Daryl says, nodding at something in front of us.

Hershel, on crutches. Outside, already moving on his own. Holy shit. Can't keep that man down for nothin'. Lori, Carl, and Beth are with him. Maggie, T-Dog, and Carol have just finished with the cars, and the three of them are watching Hershel as well.

"He is one tough son of a bitch," Glenn says happily, chuckling and dumping his sticks into our sad little woodpile. "All right, Hershel!"

"Shh," Daryl reprimands gently, pointing out a handful of walkers shambling around at the edge of the woods. "Keep your cheers down."

"Oh man, can't we have just one good day?" Glenn questions, pouting.

"Lighten up, Glum," I whisper teasingly, eyes on Hershel. "We've had worse."


	33. The Other Guy Was an Axe

**Chapter 33**

I regret my words almost instantly as a group of walkers ambles up behind Carl, emerging from somewhere within the prison itself.

"No!" Rick cries, the four of us breaking into a run, desperate to get on the other side of that fence.

It's chaos. Gunshots and voices mingling in the air, a frantic anthem to our terror. We tear through the first gate, flying to the second, Rick yanking the chain off and casting it aside.

"Hey, bro, what about us?" Axel cries, the four of us hurtling past him and Oscar on our way to the last gate.

We pay them no mind, focused only on getting to our people, taking out walkers as we go. Daryl and I reach the big gate first, yanking it open for Glenn and Rick to run through. We follow, firing shots into the closest walkers.

"What the hell happened?" Rick demands, eyeing Beth, who had managed to get herself and Hershel behind a fence.

"The gate was open!" She cries.

"Where's Lori, Carl, everyone else?" Rick shouts, verging on hysteria.

"Maggie led Lori and Carl into C block!" Hershel tells him.

"And T was bit!" Beth adds.

"What?" I cry, the world around me slowing for a moment. "Where?!"

Before she can answer, two walkers are on me and I'm forced back into action. I thrust my blade into the skull of the closer one, planning to just yank it back out and take care of the other, but my knife won't budge.

"Shit!" I hiss, dropping the body and whirling on the second walker.

Not having time to draw my gun, I do the only thing I can think to do and lunge for it, jamming my thumbs into its eye sockets, pinning it to the ground and slamming its head repeatedly into the concrete until the skull gives way, a feral snarl escaping my lips, startling even myself.

"Adie! Adie, it's dead!" Daryl barks, pulling me off the walker. "It's dead."

He places my knife back into my blood-slicked hand, having managed to retrieve it from the eye socket it had been lodged in.

"Those chains didn't break on their own," Glenn points out breathlessly. "Someone took an axe or cutters to 'em."

I can't listen. I can't focus. T. T was bit. T was bit, we have to get to him, we have to stop the infection, we have to fix this. I'm pulled from that thought when an alarm sounds, cutting through the air like a heinous school bell.

"Oh, you gotta be kiddin' me!" Daryl snarls.

Rick tosses him the keys and he takes off to lock each gate we'd left open in our haste to get to our people before the noise draws every walker for miles. Glenn, Rick, and I shoot out the speakers we can see, but there have to be several dozen more because it barely lessens the shrill sound reverberating through the air.

"How can this be happening?" Rick demands, Axel and Oscar having finally made their way to us.

"Woah, woah, woah, it has to be the backup generators!" Oscar cries. 

"Well how do you turn those on?" Rick hisses.

"There's, there's three that's connected to a diesel tank, okay?" Oscar explains. "Each one controls a certain part of the prison. The hacks shut 'em all off when the prison was overrun!"

"Can someone open up the main gate electronically with full power?" Rick demands.

"Look, I only worked in there a few days," Oscar says desperately. "I guess it might be possible."

"Come with us!" Rick orders, grabbing Oscar's sleeve and pulling him into action.

We sprint into the prison, taking out speakers as we see them. We hurtle through the hallways toward our cell block, Rick and I reaching it first, but no one's here. No one alive, at least. Walkers. Walkers in the hallways, walkers in our block, and our people are scattered, separated again. Between Rick and I, we take out four walkers before Daryl, Glenn, and the inmates reach us.

"Lori!" Rick hollers, eyes frantically darting around the block. "Carl!"

"They're not here, Rick," I shout breathlessly. "They, they must've run, okay? Found somewhere to hide."

"We just took down five of 'em in there," Daryl announces, striding toward Rick.

"There were four in here, but no sign of Lori or any of 'em," Rick says.

"They must've been pushed back into the prison," Glenn theorizes.

"Laundry room, maybe," I suggest. "They'd know we cleared it."

" _ Somebody _ is playin' games!" Rick snarls. "We'll split up and look for the others. Whoever gets to the generators first, shut 'em down!"

We take off once more, Glenn and Axel in one direction, Daryl and Rick in another, Oscar and I in yet another.

"You lead, you know this place better!" I command urgently, Oscar pulling ahead as I tear down the corridor behind him. "C'mon, get us there! Move!"

"There, that door!" He cries as we hurtle around a corner, and we burst into a room with several generators and a tank, just like he'd described.

"Adie, hold the door!" Rick hollers, he and Daryl beelining for us, walkers on their heels.

They sprint inside, Daryl, Oscar and I slamming our backs against the door just as the walkers reach it, holding it shut while Rick checks out the generators.

"How do you shut these down?" Rick demands.

"Go help 'im, we got it!" Daryl orders.

"Right here!" Oscar instructs, pointing to a switch on the generator nearest Rick.

Then Andrew, the inmate who ran, lunges at Rick from behind the generator. Holy shit, I thought he was dead. He's still got an axe and manages to pin Rick, handle across his chest.

"You got this?" I question, risking a quick glance at Daryl.

"Go!" He barks, and I launch myself at Andrew just as Rick gets free.

Rick pins him, but Andrew lands a hard blow to Rick's face, swinging the axe back. I draw my gun, but I can't get a clean shot and before I can get closer, an empty fuel drum collides with Andrew's body, sending the axe flying. My gun goes careening across the floor and there's this sudden, sharp pain in my side, blood blooming from the wound and spreading across my shirt.

Amidst the chaos, Oscar has ended up with Rick's gun.

"Get down!" Rick hisses, pushing me to the floor and raising his hands.

"Shoot him!" Andrew cries. "We can take back this prison!"

Oscar doesn't make a move. He's weighing his options. I eye my Glock helplessly, knowing I can't get to it in time and fearing the worst. We've done nothing to earn Oscar's mercy and I truly believe he's going to shoot Rick.

"What are you waiting for?" Andrew demands impatiently. "Do it! It's our house, shoot 'im!"

A single round is fired and Andrew goes down, having sustained a fatal shot to the head. Oscar flips the gun around, offering it, handle first, to Rick. He takes it and flips the levers to shut down the other generators, the hair raising alarm finally ceasing.

"Adie," he breathes, rushing over to me.

"Oh, me?" I question stupidly, placing my hands over my wound in an attempt to hide it from Rick's gaze. "I'm fine. I'm good. Dandy."

Daryl's eyes drop to the crimson stain spreading across my body, my hands doing nothing to conceal the injury, stricken.

"Dandy," I repeat firmly, wincing as I get to my feet.

"Let me see," Rick commands.

"I'm fi-" I try, but he cuts me off.

"Adrienne!"

I peel my shirt up, exposing a large gash to the left of my navel, just below my rib cage, blood steadily oozing from the wound. It's not as deep as I'd feared, but there's a lot of blood.

"You need stitches," Rick hisses. "Let's go."

We file from the generator room, once more plunging into the dark corridors, not encountering any walkers but eventually meeting Glenn and Axel. We continue down the hallway, tell-tale snarls alerting us to the presence of the dead. We round a corner and spot two of them, feasting on… oh, god…

"No…" I whimper as Rick fires two rounds into the walkers. "No!"

I lurch forward, dropping to my knees beside T's body, my hands fluttering helplessly over his mutilated corpse. The walkers have stripped nearly all the flesh from his back, leaving his ribcage and spine exposed. He's hardly recognizable, but still undoubtedly him.

"No!" I cry, heavy sobs wrenching themselves from my throat as I stare in wide-eyed horror at what's left of my best friend, trying in vain to will a new reality into being. "T! No, no, no, no, T-Dog!"

Glenn pulls me up, still wailing, squeezing my hand as Daryl lifts something from the floor. Carol's headscarf. Oh, god… nothing we can do for our friends, we continue outside, back to Hershel and Beth.

"Hershel!" Rick calls.

"You didn't find them?" Hershel demands.

"We thought maybe they came back out here," Glenn tells him, Beth shaking her head.

"What about T?" Hershel questions. "Carol?"

"They didn't make it," Daryl informs him gruffly.

"That doesn't mean the others didn't!" Rick says desperately. "We're goin' back! Daryl and Glenn, you come with-"

The single most miraculous,  _ devastating _ sound to ever reach my ears shatters the air. The cries of a newborn. Maggie's just emerged from the prison, carrying an infant in her bloodied arms, face tear soaked, Carl at her side. Only Carl. The sight of him just about kills me. Soon as I lay eyes on him, I know. Lori's gone. Carl looks like he's gonna be gone for a while, too. Maggie's choking back sobs as she slowly approaches, cradling the baby.

"Where… where is, where is she?" Rick stammers. "Where is she?"

Maggie can't answer, and Rick beelines for the door.

"No!" Maggie cries. "Rick, no!"

Rick begins to sob, crouching beside Carl, slowly putting the pieces together as he stares at his devastated son.

"Oh, no… no, no, no!" He cries, grief washing over him like a typhoon, sweeping him away from us.

I can't think of a sound more gut wrenching than a grown man sobbing like a child, broken and helpless. It's too much. It's too much, this is too much suffering. Too much loss. I sink to my knees, watching my family suffer as I sit, unable to do anything about it. Rick is gone. Frozen. In shock.

"Rick," Daryl says gently, waving his hand in front of the grieving man's face. "Rick, you with me? Rick?"

Maggie hands the crying newborn to Carl, she and Glenn taking each of my hands in theirs and pulling me up. I cry out, pain tearing through my body in an agonizing wave.

"Adie…" Glenn breathes, staring at my blood soaked shirt in horror.

"I'm not bit," I tell him breathlessly, lifting my shirt to reveal the axe wound. "An axe, it was, it was just… it's fine."

Glenn produces a rag and gently presses it to my body, placing my hands over it. I hold it there firmly.

"You're goin' to need stitches," Hershel says wearily. "Let me see the baby."

"What're we gonna feed it?" Daryl demands. "We got anything a baby can eat?"

"The good news is she looks healthy," Hershel announces, examining her. "But she needs formula. And soon or she won't survive."

"Nope," Daryl says with finality. "No way, not her. We ain't losin' nobody else, I'm goin' for a run."

"I'll back you up," Maggie volunteers.

"Me too," Glenn adds.

"Okay, think where we're goin','' Daryl agrees, pulling Beth aside. "Beth. Kid just lost his mom. His dad ain't doin' so hot, Adie's hurt real bad."

"I'll look out for him," Beth promises.

"You two get the fence, too many pile up, we got ourselves a problem," he instructs Axel and Oscar before turning his attention to me. "Adie, let Hershel stitch you up 'n help 'im with the baby. Glenn, Maggie,  _ vámonos. _ "

"Rick!" Maggie cries as Rick snatches an axe from the ground and heads into the cell block containing Lori's body.

"Let him go," I murmur, eyes on Rick's retreating form.

"Get the gate," Daryl orders. "Come on, we're gonna lose the light!"

*Daryl's POV*

"Company's close," I inform Maggie, bringing the bike to a halt. "Stay tight."

It's just the two of us, Glenn having stayed behind 'cause we ain't gonna get where we're going in a car. As much as I'd like the help, I'm glad he ain't coming. With Adie hurt and Rick outta his mind… we couldn't leave the place defenseless. We'd got lucky, this daycare don't look like it's been looted, but I ain't gonna get my hopes up for it to be this easy. I'll go as far as I have to, we ain't losing that baby. We ain't losing nobody else. I ain't gonna let that happen.

Maggie breaks out a window and climbs inside, and I follow after checking the treeline for anyone or anything that may be following us. We move through the place quickly, taking what we need as we go. Clothes, diapers, bottles… where the hell's the formula? There's a rattling noise coming from inside a cupboard in the kitchen, but it's just a damn possum. I shoot an arrow through it.

"Hello, dinner," I announce triumphantly, earning a groan from Maggie.

"I'm not puttin' that in my bag," she says disgustedly.

Didn't expect she would. I like Maggie, but I find myself wishing Adrienne was here. I feel like I can just  _ be _ around her and not worry about what she thinks about it. She ate raw squirrel once, for Christ's sake. I don't feel so out of place around her. Too bad I fucked that up. I doubt she wants anything to do with me now.

She was so direct, though. About the kiss. Asking if it was okay like that's even a damn question. In her mind, maybe it was. And my silence gave her the wrong damn answer. Oh, Jesus, I can't think about that right now. Why the fuck am I even thinking about it at all? We just lost three of our people, we lost  _ Carol… _ no. I need to focus. It's getting dark out. Maggie and I finish ransacking the daycare and head home, and I hope like hell we're in time. We ain't losing nobody else.

*Adrienne's POV*

I'm all stitched up, accompanying Hershel outside to check on Glenn. He's out here digging graves for our dead friends. Our family. I'm supposed to be taking it easy, but I can't. I can't rest, I can't just  _ sit, _ if I do that, if I stop… I can't. Axel and Oscar managed to get the walkers spread out around the fence, took down a whole mess of 'em. Now they're helping dig holes for people they didn't even know. Strangers. Maybe they're okay. T thought they were worth a damn.

"Rick?" Glenn questions, meeting Hershel and me at the gate.

"Still inside," Hershel says flatly.

"Okay, I'll get him," Glenn sighs, turning to glare at the digging inmates behind him. "A third of our group in one day."

"'Cause of one asshole," Hershel nods.

"Part of me wishes that we killed all the prisoners on sight," Glenn admits.

"Axel 'n Oscar seem like good guys," Hershel points out.

"You know, when the evacuations started…" Glenn trails off, tears forming in his eyes. "T-Dog drove his church van to the home of every senior he knew just in case they needed a ride."

I let out a strangled sounding sob. T… he's our brother. Family.

"He saved my ass a thousand times," Glenn continues. "He wasn't just a  _ good _ guy… he was the  _ best. _ "

"He was," I breathe, wiping the tears from my eyes.

"Got bit closing the gate," Hershel informs us. "If he hadn't done that…"

"It could've been Maggie," Glenn murmurs bitterly, nodding. "It's wrong, but… I'd trade any number of people for one of ours any day."

Hershel says nothing, just clasps Glenn's hand as best he can through the chain link. Glenn's done talking, though, and he lopes off in the opposite direction.

"I would, too," I admit, sniffling and wiping my nose on my sleeve.

-

I find myself back inside, holding onto the increasingly irate baby for dear life. Her cries, repetitive and unceasing, numb me to the passage of time. I don't know if I've been here five minutes or five hours, and I think she might be the only thing tethering me to reality at all right now. Her and Carl, who refuses to leave his sister's side. He's tucked up against my arm, walking in tandem with me as I move aimlessly about the block. T is gone, and Lori and Carol… a third of our people,  _ a third, _ just… snuffed out. Dead. Baby's hungry, her tiny cries echoing through the prison as I pace, patting her back and attempting to soothe her to no avail.

"Beth!" Maggie cries, she and Daryl sprinting into the cell block, Glenn, Axel, and Oscar on their heels.

They're back.  _ He's _ back. Of course he is. Relief floods my body. We're not losing anyone else, not today.

"How's she doin'?" Daryl questions, lifting her gently from my arms.

"Got here just in time," I murmur wearily.

"Shh…" he soothes, cradling the baby in his arms. "Shh…"

Beth hands him a bottle which he promptly places at the baby's mouth.

"Come on, come on…" he coos softly, and she latches onto the bottle, the crying ceasing immediately. "Yeah," he whispers, looking around the room and chuckling.

We're all watching him, this moment nothing short of surreal after such a harrowing day. Who the fuck could have predicted Daryl fucking Dixon, of all people, would be good with babies? Relief sweeps over the room while she eats, finally getting what she needs. She's gonna be just fine. I can't tear my eyes away from Daryl. He tries so hard to keep people at arms length. He's rough, damaged, sometimes even violent. And he's staring down at this baby so tenderly I can't help but cry.

"She got a name yet?" He questions, his smile lighting up his whole face.

"Not yet," Carl says softly. "I was thinkin' maybe Sophia. Then there's Carol, too. And… Andrea. Amy. Jacqui. Patricia. Or… Lori. I don't know."

With each name our hearts break anew. He's so young, so unbelievably young, to have witnessed this much death, so much loss. He trails off and I take his hand, pulling him to me. He allows it, sinking into my side like if he just gets close enough he can burrow into my skin and ignore the world for just a little while.

"Yeah…" Daryl whispers softly, the baby drinking in earnest now. "You like that? Huh? Little Ass Kicker," I snort at the name and his face brightens, his eyes meeting mine. "Right?" He questions, eyeing the rest of the group, all of us chuckling as his smile widens. "That's a good name, right? Little Ass Kicker. You like that, huh? You like that, sweetheart?"

I stare at the man cradling the baby in his arms, rocking and swaying like it's the most natural thing in the world, and, heaven help me, I could not possibly be more attracted to him then I am right now. Glenn catches my eye and smirks, winking. Oh, for the love of god. I can feel the heat in my face as my cheeks flush. This is  _ not _ the time.

Eventually, exhausted and grieving, everyone heads to bed. Rick still hasn't returned, so Carl ends up taking the top bunk in my cell for the night. Little Ass Kicker is fed and swaddled, tucked away in a makeshift crib beside my bed. A box, really. We're doing the best with what we have here, and she seems content, at least until her cries wake me sometime before the asscrack of dawn. She's hungry. I roll out of bed and softly pad over to her box, lifting her tiny body up and cradling her to my chest.

"Shh…" I soothe, rocking her.

"Adie?" Carl questions sleepily, alarm lacing his voice. "Is she okay?"

"She's perfect," I whisper. "Just hungry. I got her, go back to sleep, bud. She'll be just fine, I promise."

I leave my cell, Carl having gone right back to sleep once he'd been assured his sister was all right. Poor kid. Rick better get his shit together, Carl can't lose both his parents in one day. He's just a kid. I put the bottle together with one hand, cradling baby with the other arm, and shake it vigorously until the formula dissolves. I place the bottle near her roving little mouth and she latches on greedily.

"There you go, baby," I coo softly. "You're gonna be just fine."

I sway gently, humming while she eats. She's got a couple ounces down in record time and it's time to burp her. I pull the bottle from her mouth and she makes an indignant little noise as I place her upright against my shoulder.

"Oh, I know, I know baby…" I sympathize with her, patting her back firmly. "I'd be pissed, too. Gimme a good burp and we'll be back in business, I promise… c'mon…"

But she's a stubborn little thing, and she begins to wail.

"Here, let me."

Daryl materializes at my side, gently taking the crying infant from my arms, picking up the same rhythm I'd had going, thumping his large hand gently against her back.

"Maybe I didn't feed her e-" I'm cut off by the gross, gurgly burp the baby emits.

Daryl smirks and I hand him the bottle defeatedly.

"Betrayal," I tell the baby in mock hurt as she suckles away, oblivious to her treachery.

"You had her almost there," Daryl says, snorting at my pout. "I jus' showed up at the right time."

"Don't patronize me, Daryl," I chuckle, watching him expertly handle the newborn. "You're better with her than I am."

"Nah," he scoffs, but his eyes are smiling.

"You are," I insist with a grin. "What's your secret? Or were you born a baby whisperer?"

"Merle," he chuckles softly. "He had a thing for a while, this chick with a kid not much bigger 'n this. Used to dump the baby on me so they could…"

"Ah," I laugh quietly, my mind filling in the rest. "Enough said."

"How's your wound?" He questions, his face suddenly troubled.

"You should see the other guy," I joke weakly.

"The other guy was an axe," he points out.

"I'm fine," I insist. "Hershel stitched me up, I'm good."

He's silent, his face contemplative. Then it occurs to me he's probably uncomfortable, alone with me like this. God, that's embarrassing.

"Listen, um… I'm sorry about the other night," I tell him sincerely.

"Stop apologizin'," he says gruffly, meeting my eyes. "Ain't nothin' you should be sorry for."

"I'm sorry," I reply out of habit. "Oh, hell… I, uh… I just don't want it to be weird, but I feel like I make it weird all the time, I just really like you, but I want to respect your boundaries and I'm talkin' too much, I'm sorry-"

"Adie," he interrupts my rambling, staring at me.

"You're right, I'm sorry," I tell him, flushing. "I-"

"Adrienne, I's okay with it," he blurts, and, even in the poor light, I can see his ears instantly burn crimson.

"You… you were?" I question, unsure I'd heard correctly.

He nods once, chewing his lip. God damn it, I'm  _ tired _ of guessing. A sudden boldness takes hold of me and I step closer to him, mindful of the now sleeping baby in his arms as I lean in and gently brush my lips against his cheek.

"So you're okay with this?" I murmur, my lips less than an inch from his skin.

His breath hitches and he nods. So I kiss him, pressing my lips to his, and this time there's no hesitation from him, his lips instantly moving in sync with mine, still cautious but undeniably okay with what's happening. I pull away and look into his eyes. He's staring into mine, and he's... terrified. But he's also looking at me with wonder, as if he's trying to work out whether this is real or not, or if he even cares. The moment is shattered when the baby sighs softly in her sleep, Daryl glancing down with concern.

"I'll go get her box," I whisper, and he nods his assent.

I rush back to my cell, peering over to check on Carl before grabbing the box from the floor beside my bunk and practically sprinting back to Daryl with it. He places her down gently on the small blanket we'd padded the box with, tucking her in with great care. I watch him, sure he can hear my heart thundering against my ribcage as he turns to look at me. I shuffle my feet, unsure how to proceed. This is new territory for me and I don't know how to act within it.

"You should sleep," he suggests, and my heart sinks. "I got her."

"Okay," I say softly, and I hate myself for sounding so crestfallen.

"Hey," he places his hand beneath my chin, lifting my face to look into my eyes. "I ain't tryin' to get rid of you," he says firmly, nodding almost as though he's confirming as much for himself as he is for me.

"Okay," I whisper, feeling more vulnerable than I've ever felt with another person before. "Good night, Daryl."

He doesn't respond, and I'm trying not to read that as rejection. I lean in and kiss his cheek just one more time, certain this will be the last. That, come morning light, he'll go right on back to barely acknowledging my existence.

Which really fucking sucks because I think I'm in love with him.


	34. The Dream Team

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Torture

**Chapter 34**

The next days are a blur, two turning into three turning into four with no real evidence time is even passing at all. Under Daryl’s direction, we’ve cleaned up the yard and as much of the prison as we dare this low on ammo. Rick won’t come out of the tombs, venturing further and further into the bowels of the prison with his axe and his vengeance. Glenn and I have both tried without success to get him to come back to the block with us, but he’s… he needs to grieve his way. Maybe this is just what it’s gonna look like for a while. We just need to let it run its course and be here for him when he’s ready.

I woke up this morning and for just a moment, I forgot. Where I am, what the world is, all the death and destruction. As I emerge from my post sleep stupor, though, it all comes crashing down again. Carol. Lori. T. I leave my cell and head one over, sinking to the floor in the cell T had claimed for his own just days ago, claiming he was the  _ only one fool enough _ to be my neighbor.

I stare at his bunk, at his pack sticking out from beneath. It still doesn't feel real. He can't be gone. I draw my knees to my chest, ignoring the throbbing pain in my stitches, and bury my face in my hands, succumbing to the grief roaring through me in feral waves. Consuming me. I cry silently, sobs wracking my body, letting it all go.

Then it's over. It has to be. I don't get to do this. I don't get to scream and cry and curse the wind, not in front of Carl. He needs us to be strong, all of us, for him. So I pick myself up, wipe away my tears, and step from T's cell just as Daryl pokes his head into the next cell over. My cell. He and I haven’t had much time to discuss… well, anything really. Taking care of our people has taken precedence over anything else. Even entertaining the idea of more witching hour kisses, let alone following through, feels selfish. So we haven’t talked about it. But I still think about it. A lot.

"Hey," I greet hoarsely.

"Jus' lookin' for you," he grunts, eyeing me, understanding washing over his features as he realizes whose cell I've just emerged from.

"I just… I was takin' a moment," I sigh heavily.

"He was a good man," he says sincerely, his gaze dropping to the floor.

"He was the best," I croak, tears threatening to spill over once more. "How's Carl? The baby?"

"She's fine. Carl ain't lookin' too hot," he answers honestly. "He ain't eatin'. Ain't talkin' much, neither, but he was askin' for you."

He and I walk side by side to the group, all gathered around breakfast. Beth has made oatmeal and Daryl passes me a bowl before taking one for himself, sitting on the stairs. I take a seat beside Carl. Everything is silent, save for the clattering of plastic spoons against bowls. Carl's… hollow. I take his hand and squeeze, his eyes meeting mine. He's holding it all in, I can see it.

"If you don't eat that, I'm gonna," I threaten, pointing my spoon at his bowl.

He doesn't say a word. His face doesn't change. But he does put a spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth, and I'm counting that as a win.

"Everybody okay?" Rick's voice rings out suddenly as he joins us, bloodied and mangy but in one piece.

"Yeah, we are," Maggie assures him.

Liar.

"What about you?" Hershel questions as Rick approaches and I get to my feet, out of his way so he can be by his son.

"I cleared out the boiler block," he announces.

"How many were there?" Daryl asks.

"I dunno. A dozen, two dozen?"

"Christ," I breathe, Daryl's eyes flickering to mine from across the room.

"I, I have to get back," Rick informs us. "Just wanted to check on Carl."

He pats his son's shoulder as he turns to leave again, without so much as a glance in Ass Kicker's direction. Anger wells in my guts. It’s been days. That’s not long enough to grieve everything he’s lost, but Carl  _ needs  _ him. He can’t run away from his responsibilities as a father forever. He doesn’t get to do that.

"Rick, we can handle taking out the bodies," Glenn says insistently, jumping to his feet. "Okay? You don't have to."

"No, I do," he retorts, glaring and crossing the room to Daryl. "Everyone have a gun and a knife?"

"Yeah," Daryl tells him, chewing. "Runnin' low on ammo, though."

"Maggie and me were planning on making a run this afternoon," Glenn says. "Adie, too, if you're up for it?" He questions, eyes on me, continuing when nod my agreement. "Found a phone book with some places we can hit, look for bullets and formula."

"We cleared out the generator room," Daryl informs Rick. "Axel's there tryin' to fix it in case of emergency. We're gonna sweep the lower levels as well."

"Good," Rick says, turning abruptly. "Good."

"Rick," Hershel barks as he stalks from the room, back out elsewhere into the prison.

God damn it. I make to follow him, drag him back to Carl by his nutsack if I have to, but Hershel stops me. The older man places his hand on my arm, calming me instantly.

"I'll go to him," he says softly. "That boy needs you here."

He's right. I return to the seat next to Carl, putting my arm around him.

"Hey. You can't help clear this place on an empty stomach," I point out and he whips his head around to meet my eyes.

"I get to help?" He questions, and I'm pleased that I've managed to get an entire sentence out of him.

"Only if you eat," I tell him, waggling my eyebrows ridiculously and popping a spoonful of my own oatmeal into my mouth.

*Daryl's POV*

I'll be damned. Adrienne's managed to get some kinda emotion outta Carl.

"I get to help?" Carl asks her, eyes wide, voice tinged with the faintest hint of excitement.

"Only if you eat," she responds, waggling her eyebrows as she takes a spoonful of oatmeal from her own bowl, sticking it into her mouth pointedly.

Unbelievably, Carl's lips turn up with just a trace of a smile. Not the genuine article, but as close as anyone's seen in days. I catch myself staring at Adrienne, her self satisfied smile not quite reaching her still red-rimmed eyes while she watches Carl, now spooning oatmeal into his mouth almost faster than he can chew it. I can see that she's in pain. She's grieving, too. But she's hiding it, holding it down so she can lift Carl up.

She looks up, almost as if she can sense my gaze, her eyes meeting mine instantly. Her smile widens and she dips her head slightly at the boy beside her, like  _ 'are you seeing this right now?' _ I wish I could tell her that I do. That I see her. That I only ever want to see her, that she's the most beautiful fucking creature I've ever laid eyes on.

But I don't know how to say any of that shit and I don't think she'd believe me even if I did. I heard Beth tell her she was pretty once and she blew it off entirely, scoffing as though the sentiment had been the most utterly ridiculous thing she'd ever heard. Which just makes it that much truer.

"Hey," she greets, breaking me from my reverie as she plops down beside me, her leg touching mine in a way that’s so goddamn  _ maddeningly  _ distracting I can’t stand it. "I sort of promised Carl he could help clear the prison. I should've checked with you first, I forgot I've been enlisted for run duty."

"Don't worry 'bout it," I tell her. "Kid's a good shot, he'll be alright."

"Thank you," she murmurs sincerely, squeezing my hand briefly before getting to her feet. "Glenn's chompin' at the bit to get outta here, so… I guess we're headin' out."

Be safe, I want to tell her. Come back to me. But I can't. So I don't. And then she's gone. I round up Oscar and Carl, the three of us heading down to the block containing the generator room. The block where T-Dog and Carol died. There's a metal clanking echoing through the hall and I quickly identify the source. The steel door on a solitary confinement cell, scraping across the floor as whatever lies behind it attempts to push through.

"Check it out, man," Oscar says, eyeing the door. "Must've missed it last night."

"It's probably just one or two of 'em," I tell him, pushing the door the rest of the way shut with my index finger. "Don't look like they got much fight. They ain't goin' nowhere. We'll take care of it on the way back."

Carl has wandered just a hair too far for my liking. I whistle, getting his attention. Since Adrienne left, he's been devoid of any emotion at all. He needs to know he ain't alone.

"Come on," I mutter, and he follows me as Oscar heads the other way. "You know, my mom... she liked her wine. She liked to smoke in bed. Virginia Slims."

I peer down the hallway, keeping an eye out for walkers as the boy and I make our slow way through the block, peeking behind cell doors and peering around corners the whole way.

"I was playin' out with the kids in the neighborhood," I continue, Oscar coming back from the other end of the hallway, keeping his distance. "I could do that with Merle gone. They had bikes, I didn't. We heard sirens gettin' louder. And they jumped on their bikes, ran after it, you know… hopin' to see somethin' worth seein'. I ran after 'em, but I couldn't keep up. I ran around a corner 'n saw my friends lookin' at me. Hell, I saw everybody lookin' at me. Fire trucks everywhere. People from the neighborhood. It was my house they were there for. It was my mom in bed, burnt down to nothin'."

I push on, not sure why other than that he needs to hear it. I should've told Adrienne when she told me about her mom, but I couldn't. It still ain't something I wanna talk about, but I hate looking at Carl and seeing… nothing. He's just blank.

"That was the hard part. You know, she was just gone. Erased. Nothin' left of her. People said it was better that way," I chuckle bitterly. "I dunno. Just made it seem like it wasn't real, you know?"

"I shot my mom," Carl sighs. "She was out. Hadn't turned yet. I ended it. It was real."

He eyes me, trying to see how I'm reacting to the bomb he'd just dropped. Truth is, I'd suspected as much. I had hoped it'd been Maggie, but Carl's face after… I knew.

"Sorry about your mom," the boy says softly, gaze dropping to the floor before hesitantly looking me in the eye again.

"I'm sorry about yours," I tell him, nodding and patting his shoulder, leading him further into the depths of the prison. "Come on."

*Adrienne's POV*

"He didn't even say goodbye," I whine like a 13 year old girl, Glenn snickering as Maggie swats him on the arm.

"Give 'im time," Maggie says, smiling warmly. "He'll come 'round. You don't see the way he looks at you."

"You hold the key to his heart," Glenn sighs wistfully. "You see into his soul, your touch awakens-"

"Fuck off, Glenn," I spit, and he and Maggie both chuckle.

We reach our destination, Southern Discount, climbing out of the Chevy and checking the parking lot for walkers.

"Clear outside," Maggie says, relieved, after we've scanned the area, no visible threats.

"All right," Glenn says. "Let's take a look."

"Hey," Maggie blurts, striding purposefully towards him and planting a kiss on his lips, which he returns earnestly.

"Christ, y'all get a room," I mutter bitterly. "You know, if y'all need some time, I'm happy to wait in the car after we get what we came for. I'm sure it won't be long."

"Ha ha," Glenn says dryly, glaring as Maggie snorts with laughter.

"It's a beautiful day," she tells him softly.

And it really is. Something about being around these two makes me feel less guilty for how I feel about Daryl. They're in love with each other, so I guess that makes it okay for me to want the same. Glenn grabs the cutters from the car and makes quick work of breaking the chain on the shop doors, pulling them open.

"Jesus!" I cry, ducking as several birds fly out of the store, startling the shit out of the three of us.

Glenn and I enter warily, back to back as we sweep the shop for walkers. Maggie stays outside, watching the door.

"Glenn, get that duck," she commands, spotting a small duck plushie on a shelf.

"What?" Glenn questions breathlessly, still rattled over the birds.

"Get that duck," Maggie repeats.

"Are you serious?" Glenn questions, laughing when he spots the novelty item.

"Yeah," Maggie insists. "A kid growin' up in a prison could use some toys."

"Dude!" I crow, louder than intended, coming across a shelf stocked with several cans of formula.

"What?" Maggie questions, alarmed, Glenn rushing to my side.

"We just hit the powdered formula jackpot," Glenn informs her when the two of us emerge, hand baskets filled to bursting with formula and a few other survival essentials.

"Oh, thank god," Maggie sighs happily.

"We also got beans, batteries, little sausages..." I list off, rifling through the items.

"Many mustards," Glenn adds helpfully.

"Many," I snicker.

"It's a straight shot back to the prison from here," Glenn points out. "Probably make it in time for dinner."

"And just think," I say, eyes wide. "We'll be treated like  _ gods _ when we get back with all this mustard."

"It's good!" Glenn says defensively, elbowing me in the ribs.

"Ow!" I wince, tears pricking my eyes. "That's the bad side, Glenn."

"Oh, my god, I'm sorry!" He cries, rushing to check my stitches.

"I'm fine," I assure him, batting his hands away. "Just tender, I'm fine."

"I like the quiet here," Maggie muses while we load up the Chevy. "Back there, back home, you can always hear 'em outside the fence no matter where you are."

"And where is it y'all good people are callin' home?"

Hold on a fucking second. I know that voice. Holy shit.

*Daryl's POV*

"Oh, that's what I'm talkin' about," Oscar announces, disappearing into a cell.

What the hell? I whirl around, peering into the room.

"Mhmm," he hums happily, crouching down and snatching up a pair of red and black checkered slippers. "Yeah. Yeah, buddy."

"What the hell you need slippers for?" I demand, Carl and I joining him in the cell.

"You know," he shrugs, glancing up from the slippers he's wedged his hands into. "End of the day. Relaxin'."

Relaxing? I ain't got time to argue with this guy, we got us a growling friend trying to make a meal of us. I fire, not realizing both Carl and Oscar have the same idea until two rounds whiz past my arm. Well. That bastard's dead for sure.

"All right," I nod, the three of us moving to examine the body.

"Must've been in the cell at the end," Oscar observes. "We checked everywhere else."

I ain't listening to him, not really. Something on the gross bastard's caught my eye. A knife, lodged in its neck. Didn't get the brain, obviously, but somebody… somebody fought this thing. I pull the blade from the walker, ignoring the nauseating squelching sound of rotten, congealed blood, and hold it up to the light.

"That's Carol's knife," I mutter.

So where the hell's Carol? We never did find her body. If she didn't get away we'd have found something. Maybe just bones, but something, unless… unless she turned.

*Adrienne's POV*

"Merle?" Glenn questions.

Merle Dixon indeed, gun drawn, hand gone, a knife in a metal sort of prosthetic holster in its place. He looks like shit. Filthy and exhausted, blood pouring from a gash across the bridge of his nose. But he's alive and it doesn't look like he's been starving.

"Wow!" Merle exclaims, cackling in disbelief as he places his gun on the ground and approaches slowly.

"Hey, back the hell up!" Maggie orders, and it occurs to me for the first time she has no idea who this man is.

"Okay, okay, honey," Merle says soothingly. "Jesus!"

"You're alive," I say, flabbergasted.

"Sure as shit, I am. Damn, you're lookin' good!" He exclaims, eyes roaming my body. Christ. "Can you tell me, is my brother alive?" He questions, suddenly vulnerable in a way I'd never seen. "Huh?"

"Yeah," Glenn says simply.

"Hey," Merle says, genuine happiness washing over his face. "You uh, take me to 'im and I'll call it even on everything that happened up there in Atlanta. No hard feelins, huh?"

Glenn exchanges a glance with me. I can tell he's torn, too. Merle has proven to be untrustworthy time and time again. His word is unreliable, subject to change as he sees fit. And we've lost too many. But he's Daryl's brother.

"You have a fuckin'  _ knife _ for a hand," I blurt, unable to contain it.

"Oh, you like that?" Merle questions, chuckling. "Yeah. Well uh, I found myself a, uh, a medical supply warehouse. Fixed it up myself. Pretty cool, huh?"

No way in hell. He's lying.

"We'll tell Daryl you're here and he'll come out to meet you," Glenn says reasonably.

"Whoa, whoa, hold on," Merle protests, inching closer. "Just, just hold up. Hold up here, hold up! Hey, the fact that we found each other is a miracle. Come on, now. You can trust me."

" _ You _ trust  _ us, _ " Glenn counters. "You stay here."

Merle's friendly little facade drops and he pulls a second pistol from his belt, shooting the back windshield out of the Chevy and lunging for Maggie. Glenn and I round the car, guns on Merle. But we're too late.

"Hey, hey, hold up," he orders, gun pressed to Maggie's cheek. "Hold up, hold up."

"Let go of her," Glenn breathes. "Let go of her!"

"Put your guns in the car right now," Merle instructs. "Put 'em in the car!"

We have no choice, we dump our weapons into the trunk through the broken windshield.

"There you go," Merle says softly. "Now, we're gonna go for a little drive."

"We're not goin' back to our camp," I growl.

"No, princess," he grins. "No, we're goin' somewhere else. Get in the car! Glenn, you're drivin'! Move!"

"Don't…" Glenn pleads helplessly. "Okay."

Merle climbs into the backseat with Maggie, gun still held to her head. Glenn gets behind the wheel and I take the passenger seat, knowing if we don't do exactly as Merle says, Maggie will pay the price.

*Daryl's POV*

I can't let it go. I took Carl back to hang with Beth, Hershel, and Ass Kicker. Then I came back down here. I'm just sitting on my ass across from that damn door we passed earlier, cross-legged, stabbing the tip of Carol's knife into a crack in the floor over and over again, thinking. The last place we saw any sign of her was right around here. We never found her body. We buried what was left of T-Dog, left two empty graves for Lori and Carol. Carl made sure his mom wouldn't come back, but Carol… I think Carol's behind this door.

It's still scraping, the soft groans of whatever the hell freak show's pushing on it driving me up a goddamn wall. Probably just her, probably ain't got legs left. If she did, she'd have pushed through by now, even with the dead bastard in front of the door. I'm suddenly so fucking angry I can't see straight. Why does everyone I love go away?

I spring to my feet, pacing furious, short lengths back and forth, glaring at the door. Should've killed it earlier, gotten it over with. I ain't even sure why we waited, it just didn't seem worth the trouble, I guess, but that was before I figured out... I still gotta take care of it. I place the knife between my teeth and grab the body blocking the door, clutching onto its shirt and roughly shoving it aside before yanking the door open, knife poised to strike.

Holy shit. 

I was only halfway right. It's Carol, it is, but she's… she's still Carol. She's alive, breathing. I scoop her into my arms, so relieved, so goddamn grateful, I could cry. I ain't gonna, but I could.

*Adrienne's POV*

Merle directs us to a town. It's untouched, a barrier around it protecting the people inside from the dead outside. Then we're separated, Glenn into one room, Maggie and I into another.

"Don't have the resources to give you a private room, sweet pea," Merle says with a cackle, locking Maggie and I inside, arms bound at our backs.

We sit in silence. Waiting. That's all we can do. Wait. Then we hear him. Merle, interrogating Glenn on the other side of the wall.

"You don't even know why you're here, do you?" He demands. "I didn't mean you no harm. I lowered my gun, you raised yours. You were an asshole out there, just like you were on that rooftop back there in Atlanta. What y'all did? Leavin' me up there? People wouldn't do that to an animal."

"We went back for you," Glenn informs him.

"Ain't you thoughtful?" Merle spits.

"We did," Glenn insists. "All of us. Rick, Adie, Daryl, T-Dog."

"Mm,  _ T-Dog, _ " Merle muses. "Yeah, that big ol' spear chucker, the one I was pleadin' with. Mhmm, the one that dropped the key. Tell me where he's at. I'm sure T-Dog'd like to bury the hatchet, let bygones be bygones."

"He didn't make it," Glenn murmurs.

"Well, I hope he went slow," Merle says lowly. "Yeah. How 'bout the rest? Hmm? How 'bout my baby brother? You can't tell me he's  _ alive _ 'n then hold off on where he is. No? Well, maybe the farmer's daughter'll help me out."

He chuckles to himself and Maggie stiffens, eyeing me fearfully. I shake my head, listening intently.  _ Don't tell him a goddamn thing, Glenn. _ I plead silently, desperately hoping he can hold out.

"Tell me somethin'," Merle says conversationally, voice silky and sweet as pie. "When she's scared and she's holdin' you close, and her tremblin' skin is close to you, her soft lips're touchin' you here… all over here…"

Jesus… his knife. Glenn's not making any sound, I don't think Merle's hurting him, not yet, but he's definitely threatening him.

"And over here…" Merle continues. "Feels good, don't it? I remember you. Yeah... you're the sneaky one, the one with nerve. And that…  _ charmin' _ little redhead in the other room, I remember her, too. Two of you still thick as thieves, aren't you? The  _ dream team,  _ mhmm. Y'all don't scare easy, do you? I  _ like _ that."

Heavy footfalls sound. He's moving across the room. Leaving? Christ, I wish I could fucking  _ see. _

"Now…" Merle's voice floats through the wall once more. "I wanna know where my brother is. I wanna know where the  _ sheriff _ is."

Then… the unmistakable sound of flesh hitting flesh, Merle crying out in pain.

"God!" He roars, and I hear what sounds like a fist pounding into a table before the man chuckles. 

Then those fists start flying, Glenn's cries reaching us through the wall as Merle continues to fire questions. He wants to know where we stay and he wants to know  _ now, _ but Glenn's not giving it up. Maggie's shaking with fear, terrified eyes meeting mine. I hold her gaze, trying to comfort her but knowing I can't, Merle's interrogation becoming torture as we just sit on the other side of the thin, unfinished wall, powerless, while Glenn takes punch after punch.

-

"I gotta hand it to you," Merle says eventually, apparently ready for a break. "A lot tougher than I remember. No surprise you lasted this long. Shit, I figured the way Officer Friendly abandoned people, he would've left you behind by now. But he didn't do that, did he? Hmm. So tell me, where y'all been at?"

"It's just a matter of time before they come looking," Glenn spits.

"I'll bake a cake," Merle says happily. "With pink frosting. Would they like that? Ain't nobody comin'."

"Rick is. And when he gets here-"

"He's gonna do nothin'. Not if he wants you, Bo Peep, 'n Red Ridin' Hood back. Think I'm in this by myself?"

"You can't take us all. There's too many of us."

Too many of us? Christ. Maybe before, when we had Lori, Carol and T-Dog. Shit, by the looks of this place, not even then. Merle's got a whole goddamn town. I don't think bluffing's gonna get us outta this.

"There ain't a pair of nuts between the whole pussy lot of you," Merle chuckles.

"We've been on the  _ road, _ " Glenn hisses. "Not hiding in some dungeon. Rick, Shane, Dale, Jim, Andrea."

" _ Really? _ " Merle simpers. "Is that right?"

I don't like his tone. I don't like his tone at all. He knows. I don't know how he knows, but he  _ knows _ Glenn's lying.

*Daryl's POV*

"Rick," I say, rounding the corner and coming across Rick, Carl, Beth, and Hershel surrounding a woman we don't know. "Who the hell's this?"

"You wanna tell us your name?" Rick questions, kneeling beside the woman. "You wanna tell us your name?"

But she's silent, clearly not wanting to tell us shit. And I ain't got the time. Carol's alive, they gotta come now. Whoever the hell this is can wait, she ain't ours.

"Y'all come on in here," I urge.

"Everything all right?" Rick asks, rising.

"You're gonna wanna see this," I tell him, not wanting to spoil the surprise.

He ain't gonna believe it until he witnesses it with his own eyes, anyway.

"Go ahead," he instructs, waving the others away. "Carl, get the bag. We'll keep this safe 'n sound," he tells the woman, holding a sheathed sword. "The doors are all locked. You'll be safe here. And we can treat that."

The woman's been shot. Looks like the bullet went through clean, but that leg's gotta hurt like a son of a bitch.

"I didn't ask for your help," she snarls.

"Doesn't matter," Rick mutters, finally turning to follow me into our cell block. "Can't let you leave."

I lock the door, securing the woman behind bars before leading Rick to the cell Carol's lying in. He looks like he's just seen a ghost. Hell, we thought she was dead. He  _ is _ seeing a ghost. Carol rises from the bunk and they embrace, tears flowing freely as they reunite.

"Adie's gonna shit," Carl murmurs, eyes welling with tears, which I suspect have more to do with who ain't here than who is.

"How?" Hershel asks, Carol turning to hug him.

"Solitary," she quips, laughing.

"Poor thing fought her way into a cell," I add. "Must've passed out, dehydrated."

Carol spots the baby in Beth's arms, her face falling as she puts two and two together. 

"Oh…" she whispers, holding onto the now sobbing Rick. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

She takes the baby, cradling the newborn to her chest. And now it's time to deal with business. That woman showed up with a basket full of formula. That ain't no damn coincidence.

-

"We can tend to that wound for you," Rick announces, he, Hershel and I filing back into the holding cell. "Give you a little food and water, and then send you on your way. But you're gonna have to tell us how you found us and why you were carryin' formula."

"The supplies were dropped by a young Asian guy," she murmurs, eyeing us warily. "With a couple pretty girls."

Adrienne.

"What happened?" Rick questions.

"Were they attacked?" Hershel adds worriedly.

"They were taken," she supplies.

"Taken?" Rick demands. "By who?"

"By the same son of a bitch who shot me," she says cryptically.

"Hey, these are our people," Rick hisses, beginning to lose it. "You tell us what happened now!"

He grabs at the woman, desperation getting the best of him. She recoils, and if looks could kill...

"Don't you ever touch me again!" She snarls.

"You better start talkin'," I warn, crossbow aimed at her forehead. "Gonna have a much bigger problem than a gunshot wound."

"Find 'em yourself," she growls.

"Hey… shh, shh, shh," Rick soothes, placing a hand on my bow. "Put it down. You came here for a reason."

"There's a town," she huffs, defeated. "Woodbury. 'Bout 75 survivors. I think they were taken there."

"A whole town?" Rick questions skeptically.

"It's run by this guy who calls himself the Governor," she informs us. "Pretty boy, charming,  _ Jim Jones _ type." 

Jim Jones. That ain't exactly a glowing review.

"He got muscle?" I ask.

"Paramilitary wannabes," she scoffs. "They have armed sentries on every wall."

"You know a way in?" Rick inquires.

"Place is secure from walkers, but… we could slip our way through."

"How'd you know how to get here?" Rick asks.

"They mentioned a prison," she says simply. "Said which direction it was in, said it was a straight shot."

"This is Hershel," Rick says, pointing. "The father of one of the girls who were taken. He'll take care of that."

And when she's patched up, we're leaving. I'll tear that town apart if I have to, burn it to the ground. Adrienne has to be okay. I  _ need _ her to be. We're going. Or, so I thought. Apparently we gotta discuss this further, take a damn poll.

"How do you know we can trust her?" Oscar demands.

"This is  _ Maggie and Glenn, _ " Beth says emphatically. " _ Adie. _ Why're we even debatin'?"

"We ain't," I insist. "I'll go after 'em."

"Well, this place sounds pretty secure," Rick points out. "You can't go alone."

"I'll go," Beth volunteers.

"Me, too," Axel says adamantly, stepping forward.

"I'm in," Oscar nods.


	35. Who is He?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Torture, assault, sexual assault, implied abuse of a child, implied sexual abuse, elements of rape/non-con, basically this chapter is a doozy, my dudes.

**Chapter 35**

"I got the flash bangs 'n I got the tear gas," I inform Oscar, the two of us loading up the Hyundai. "You never know what you're gonna need."

In the end, it's me, Rick, Oscar, and that girl who are going. Axel's staying here, helping protect this place while we're out. And we ain't gonna risk Beth. She's young. Inexperienced, even after being on the road all winter. Carl lopes over, carrying a backpack and a big ass duffel bag full of supplies.

"Hey," I greet him, taking one of the bags and heaving it into the trunk. "Hey, don't you worry about your old man. I'm gon' keep my eye on 'im."

He just nods, which is more than I expected. I clap him on the back and head inside to grab a few more things. Food, water, extra bandages. Once I'm satisfied we got what we need, I head out, passing Carol on my way to the car.

"Stay safe," I tell her, wondering why the hell it's so much easier to say it to Carol than Adie.

"Nine lives, remember?" She quips, smiling.

Yeah, nine lives. Except we only got the one. It ain't a guarantee we'll be back. Hell, there ain't no guarantee our people are still alive, that Adie… no. She's alive. She has to be.

"Bring 'em back," Hershel tells us firmly, clapping Rick on the shoulder as he hurls himself into the driver's seat.

We will. We're gonna get there and they're gonna be just fine.

*Adrienne's POV*

Something's wrong. Merle released a walker on Glenn. A  _ walker. _ How the hell could anyone do that? It sounded like one hell of a fight, but it's silent now. Glenn's scream was the last thing we heard. He's dead, I'm sure of it. Eaten. Bitten, at the very least. But why can't we hear the walker? We would hear it, wouldn't we? Feeding or bumbling aimlessly about the room. So maybe Glenn's okay. Maggie's a wall. Silent, giving nothing away. She's not even crying anymore, she's just... she's shutting down, the only way she can get through this.

Eventually, the door opens, and my blood turns to ice in my veins. No. No, no, no… it can't be, it fucking can't be.  _ Philip Blake. _ A man I never thought I'd see again. No… no, this is a nightmare. It's a nightmare, it has to be. I blink, willing myself to  _ wake up. _ He looks the same. A little older, a little grayer, but... the same. He steps towards the table silently, eyes darting between the two of us. I know he doesn't recognize me, and a sick part of me is hurt by it. Only when Maggie's eyes slide to mine, filled with something resembling alarm, do I become aware of the terrible rasping sound coming from my throat.

He looks at me, a small spark of pleasure lighting his eyes for just a moment before it fizzles, leaving them just as cold as ever. Fear. He gets off on fear. And I'm terrified. He pulls a knife from the sheath hanging on his belt, stepping behind Maggie first, slicing through her restraints before moving on to mine, his eyes lingering on my hair as he frees my hands. I can't breathe.

"May I?" He questions, pulling out the third chair at the table. "Thank you."

He doesn't bother waiting for a response before doing what he wants to. Something else that hasn't changed.

"We'll take you back to your people," he announces, every hair on my body raising at the sound of his voice. "Explain this was all just a misunderstandin'. You tell us where they are and we'll drive you there."

"I wanna talk to Glenn," Maggie's voice is clear, and I thank her silently for being strong right now because I can't, I can't, I can't...

"I can't allow that," he says smiling. "Your people are dangerous. Handcuffed my man to a roof, forced him to amputate his own hand."

"I don't know anythin' about that," Maggie says truthfully.

"You just tell us where they are and we'll bring 'em here," he says reasonably, so carefully genteel. "You'll be safe, I promise."

"No," Maggie says flatly.

"No?" He questions, eyes flickering curiously between the two of us. "Fine. Let's try somethin' else. Stand up, please. Both of you."

Maggie glances at me and shakes her head, the two of us remaining seated.

"Stand up," he orders, leaning forward, his voice losing any trace of faux kindness.

Maggie relents, rising, pulling me up beside her, holding tight to my hand.

"Take off your shirts."

Oh, no. No. No. I feel the panic, his words sending terror skittering up my spine. So like how he'd spoken to me a lifetime ago.  _ Adie Bee... _ but I can't lose myself, not now. I cling to Maggie's hand desperately, a vice grip on her fingers. She squeezes back, and I remain tethered to reality. I can feel her next to me. She's here. She's here and she's not gonna leave me,  _ please, _ don't let her leave me.

"No," she says resolutely.

"Take off your shirts, or I'll bring Glenn's hand in here."

That gets Maggie. Her hand leaves mine as she moves to obey, stripping her shirt from her body, silently pleading for me to do the same. And I have to. He'll kill Glenn. I curl my fingers under the hem of my tank top, roll it up my torso, over my head, and toss it aside.

"Go on," he orders, his eyes roaming our bodies, mouth twisting into a sick smirk when his gaze lands on my stitches.

Maggie's tears begin to fall and I know I have to step up. She can't be strong for both of us, I need to be strong for her, too. We've removed our bras, our hands placed over our chests to maintain some semblance of modesty. My heart leaps into my throat when he rises from his chair, removing his gun belt, and approaches Maggie.

I screw my eyes shut, willing it all away. It's a nightmare. It's a nightmare, it's a nightmare, it's a nightmare, wake up, Adrienne.  _ Wake up. _ I jump, startled, eyes flying open when the screech of wooden chair legs against concrete penetrates my brain. I can't wake up. This isn't a dream, this is real. This is happening. Maggie's trembling, my father's hand caressing her hair while his eyes crawl over her exposed skin. Then his fingers wrap around the back of her neck, forcing her down to the table. Hard.

Oh, Christ, I can't let him hurt her. I  _ won't. _

"So, you gonna talk?" He breathes, pressing himself against her.

He's holding her down, his other hand skimming her naked torso, groping greedily wherever he pleases, and something sick wells in my guts. Horror and fear and _jealousy_ and what the fuck is _wrong_ with me? Oh, my god, _say something!_ Don't let this happen, this can't happen.

"You can do whatever you're gonna do," Maggie says flatly. "And go to hell."

No. No, no, no, he can't. He can't do this. Why won't my mouth move? Christ, why can't I speak?!  _ Let her go. _ Oh, my god, I'm screaming, I'm  _ screaming,  _ why can't he hear me? He's gonna-

"Ain't she a little old for you, Daddy?" I demand softly, finally finding my voice.

I can't deny the thrill in my gut when his startled eyes snap to mine. It's sick, it's  _ so _ sick, but there's something satisfying in catching him off guard. I watch him puzzle for a beat or two before the light bulb behind his eyes flickers to life, recognition dawning upon his face. I get my hair from my mother.

"Adrienne," he breathes, my name like the filthiest of words tumbling from his lips. " _ Adie Bee. _ "

Maggie's eyes are on mine, confusion and worry distorting her features as my father lets her up. He grabs her by the arm and whisks her from the room, locking me alone inside.

"No!" I shriek, flinging myself at the door, hurling my fists against the cold metal. "No! Maggie!"

She's gone. He took her. I slide to the floor, sobbing. I can hear them in the other room. Maggie's given us up. Glenn's alive. I know she did it to save him, but unless we get back to the prison before Merle does... our lives are over. All of them. The door swings back open.

"Well," he sighs, evaluating me. "Let me have a look at you."

I don't even hesitate. I pick myself up, standing before him with my hands at my sides. Obedient. Like a fucking dog.

"I don't know what to say," he chuckles, and my eyes snap up to his face just in time to see the apologetic smile playing on his lips. "You've grown up."

My heart is thundering against my ribcage. He's holding me now, hugging me to his chest, smelling my hair, and I can't breathe. I can't move. Speak. I'm terrified. I'm 8 years old. He would never hurt me. He loves me and, if I just hold still, we'll go get ice cream tomorrow, just us.  _ Would you like that, Adie Bee? _ I'm not here. I'm far, far away. Then one of my father's hands snakes itself into my hair, his other turning my left arm out, and I'm violently yanked back into reality.

"Oh, my darling girl," he whispers, running his thumb along my scar. "What have you done to yourself?"

"Don't fuckin' touch me," I try to snarl, but it sounds like a whimper.

"Just like your mother," he chuckles, stroking my face softly. "What happened to your manners?"

"I grew up," I breathe.

"You and your friends've caused me a great deal of frustration today, sweetheart," he hisses in my ear, grabbing me from behind and pressing a utility knife to my throat.

He brushes my hair back from my face, caressing my cheekbone with his thumb.

"Now, you have a choice here, Adie Bee," he murmurs. "You can stay here with me, where you'll be safe, fed… or you can die with 'em. What's it gonna be?"

I remain silent.

"Answer me!" He barks, increasing the pressure of the knife on my throat, cutting into my skin, a sting not unlike a paper cut. " _ Now. _ "

"It's not much of a choice, is it?" I spit, sounding much braver than I feel. "Either way I choose, I'm dyin'... and so're you."

He chuckles at this, but there's no mirth in the sound, his voice as cold as the steel blade kissing my skin.

"My people are comin','' I assure him. "I'll die with them. Maybe your God'll allow me the courtesy of watchin' you go  _ first. _ "

He doesn't like that. He trails his blade delicately down my body until he reaches my stitches.

"Is that your final answer?"

I remain silent until he digs his knife into my wound, and I cry out as I'm torn open anew, fresh blood spilling from the jagged hole in my flesh.

" _ Is _ that your final answer?"

"You're gonna have to kill me."

I close my eyes and wait for it all to be over. I knew he was gonna kill me one day, somewhere in the back of my mind. I knew.  _ Beautiful. _ His hands move over my body, invasive, controlling, whispering vile sentiments into my ear while he marks my skin with his blade, his mouth, with his fingertips.  _ I knew I'd see you again, Adie Bee... _

After what feels simultaneously like eternity and just seconds, his hands wrap around my throat and I know. This is it. I'm gonna die here. I claw uselessly at his hands, my body fighting out of habit, a display of futility as my reptilian brain takes over in subconscious self preservation. My vision is fading, my blood roaring in my ears, my hands slipping to my sides as I approach death.

_ Please. Let it be over. Let me go. _

*Daryl's POV*

"Pull over."

Rick does as the stranger says, bringing the car to a halt on the side of an abandoned stretch of road. She hurls herself from the vehicle and we follow her lead. Ain't like we got a choice.

"They have patrols," she explains. "We're better off on foot."

"How far?" Rick questions. "Night's comin'."

"It's a mile," she says. "Maybe two."

We duck into the trees and start walking.

"I know what you did for me," Rick murmurs. "For my baby while I was… workin' things out. Thank you."

"It's what we do," I shrug.

It ain't nothin'. He'd do the same for me. Any of us would've done it. We're a family. We take care of each other. That's why we're out here in the first damn place. We keep walking, but then… Christ, why can't nothin' ever be simple?

"Rick," I mutter, but he knows.

Walkers, a whole group of 'em.

"Get in formation," Rick hisses. "No gunfire."

We're doing fine, each of us taking a few out, but they just keep coming.

"There's too many of 'em!" I snarl.

"This way!" Rick orders, tearing off further into the woods. "Through there!" He commands, pointing out a weathered, wooden cabin in the clearing just ahead. "Come on!"

He don't need to tell us twice. The four of us hurtle up the steps and through the door.

"Keep it down!" Rick whispers frantically. "Keep it down."

"The smell…" I hiss, the cloying stench of decay worse than I've ever encountered hitting me like a damn brick. "It's  _ loud... _ "

We work our way across the room, rounding a corner, the smell getting stronger and stronger. We spot it, a mass of mangy fur on the floor.

"What the hell is that?" Oscar demands.

"It's gotta be a fox, or… what's left of one," I observe, but on closer inspection…

This thing's wearing a collar, and the color of the fur's all wrong. It ain't a fox, it's a dog.

"Guess Lassie went home," I mutter.

Before anyone else can say anything, the walkers outside start pounding against the walls, the door, the windows. We're surrounded. And we ain't alone in here. There's a bed in the corner of the room, something beneath the covers. Looks like a person, but the state of that dog? No way in hell is it alive. Rick nods at me and I get into position, knife at the ready, as he yanks the blanket from the bed.

"Who the hell're you?" A man, startled and very much alive, shrieks, lurching from the bed, rifle in hand.

"We don't mean any harm," Rick assures him.

"Get outta my house!" He cries.

"Okay!" Rick soothes, raising his hands. "Okay, okay. We will, but we can't right now."

"Now!" He roars, inconsolable and, evidently, unconcerned with the roving mass of undead mouths outside, waiting to be fed.

"Shut him up!" Sword Lady hisses.

"Get out,  _ right now! _ " He hollers.

"There're walkers outside!" Rick snaps.

"I'll call the cops!" The man threatens.

Oh, shit. This guy's delusional, he don't know what the hell's going on. Probably why he ain't buried Fido. He ain't living in reality. Poor bastard.

"I  _ am _ a cop," Rick announces, lowering his weapon, attempting to comfort the man. "Now, I need you to lower the gun. Don't do anything rash. Everything's fine. Let's just, let's just take this nice 'n slow, okay? Look at me. Hey, hey."

"Show me your badge!" The man demands, cocking his rifle.

Hell. We're gonna have to kill the poor sumbitch.

"All right," Rick nods defeatedly. "It's in my pocket. It's in my pocket. Now, I'm just gonna reach down, nice 'n slow."

He moves quick, disarming the man, but not before he manages to get a shot off. The bullet blows a hole in the wall, and the man makes a break for it, hauling ass to the door, ignoring our desperate cries not to do it. Before we can stop him, though, Sword Lady runs him through with her blade. So much for saving him. Probably for the best, now we have a way to get the hell outta here. There's two doors. Walkers are at the front, we could sneak out the back.

"Remember the Alamo?" I question, eyeing the others.

"Help me with the door," Rick commands, motioning Sword Lady forward, he and I grabbing hold of the poor dead bastard.

"You gotta be kiddin'," Oscar shakes his head incredulously.

"He's dead," Rick points out. "Check the back."

Rick and I lift the body as Oscar scrambles to the back door, cracking it open just a hair.

"It's clear," he informs us.

"One, two, three."

Rick gives the count and Sword Lady flings the door open just long enough for us to shove the body out onto the porch, yanking it closed before anything can come through. Still, I bolt the lock, just to be safe. We're good. We haul ass out the back and sprint the rest of the way to Woodbury as night falls around us.

*Adrienne's POV*

"You've made your choice," my father spits breathlessly, tossing me the tank top I'd shed earlier. "And you're gonna live with it long enough to watch all your friends die. Get dressed."

He doesn't kill me. He takes me, broken, bloodied,  _ destroyed… _ escorts me out of the room and leads me down a quaint little street lined with quaint little buildings, park benches, garden boxes, tiki torches… this town he runs, it's idyllic. The people who live here, do they know what he is? Do they care? He guides me into a large, white building, down a hallway, and, finally, into a large room set up like a studio apartment. Merle is here, along with two other men I don't recognize.

"Sit," my father orders, pointing to an armchair beside the windows.

I do. I guess years of conditioning trump the years I'd spent in therapy trying to undo it all, even now. I can't look at any of the men in the room, least of all my father. I wrap my arms protectively around myself and stare at the floor.

"Eleven people," he huffs, pacing back and forth across the room.

"That's deep in the red zone," one of his men, a bespectacled dweeb who doesn't appear capable of fighting his way out of a paper sack, points out. "There's no way only eleven-"

"So she's lyin'?" My father demands, turning on his heel and coming to an abrupt halt. "'Cause if she's lyin', that means a pretty sizable force has moved into our backyard. But if she's not, this group, with  _ your  _ brother at its core, has done something you told me couldn't be done."

My eyes snap up at that, just in time to see Merle drag his gaze from me to stare at my father. Daryl. That's the only thing Merle seemed to give a shit about in the time I'd spent with him, keeping Daryl alive. Maybe… maybe that's still true. With Merle's help, I could get outta here. We could get Maggie and Glenn outta here, get back in time to warn the others.

"Adie Bee, how many people are in your camp?"

My stomach rolls as I remember with a pang how much I loved the nickname once.

"Eleven," I whisper.

"And you cleared the place on your own, just the eleven of you?"

"No," I swallow. "Some of us didn't make it. We're just eleven now."

He knows when I'm lying, he always did. I couldn't lie to him if I tried.

"They did it," he announces, tearing his eyes from mine, no doubt in his mind he's been told the truth. "My girl wouldn't lie to me. And she says her people are gonna come lookin'."

He offers me a grin, the same one he'd plastered on for family Christmas photos and campaign flyers. It doesn't reach his eyes. It never did.

"Your brother might be out there right now, searchin' for 'em," he continues, turning his attention back to Merle. "Blood is blood, right? Makes me wonder where your loyalties lie."

Merle hesitates, eyes not leaving my father's for a second. I can't read him. I have no idea what the hell he's thinking, but… Councilman Blake is a master of manipulation. If Merle's been with him all this time, my father can play him like a goddamn fiddle.

"Here," Merle nods.

This answer seems to please my father, and he claps his right-hand man on the shoulder, satisfied.

"You two get a small group and scout this prison," he orders, gaze flickering between the other two men in the room. "I wanna know exactly what we're dealin' with."

"Yeah," one of them says agreeably, placing a baseball cap on his head and making his way out of the room with the dweeb. "You got it."

"Adrienne, sweetheart," my father coos, kneeling in front of me. "I'm expecting company, I'd rather you didn't, uh… interfere, alright? Merle here is going to show you to your room. You'll have a hot shower, just keep it short. Water, food if you need. You'll be safe there. I made you that offer unfairly. I can't very well expect you to sign the lease without seeing the amenities first hand, now, can I?" He chuckles, the most reasonable man in the world. "Get some sleep. You need it. We'll see how you're feelin' about things in the mornin'."

I won't change my mind. He can offer whatever he wants, I'm not staying. I'd rather fight and maybe die with my people than live in a gilded cage. Merle offers an elbow as he leads me down the hallway and around a corner. I ignore it, staring straight ahead.

"So," he says conversationally, pushing open a door at the end of the darkened hallway and waving me inside. "Governor's your daddy, huh? Small world these days."

He flicks a switch and a single lamp lights up, casting the room in a faint glow. It's… clinical. White. The walls are white, the bedspread is white, the blinds... the only color in the entire room comes in the form of a blue fleece blanket draped over the end of the bed. There's a metal cart beside a night stand, atop which sit two bottles of water, a packet of oyster crackers, a few thick slices of jerky, and a plate adorned with fresh fruit.

"Cat got your tongue, sweet pea?" Merle questions, leaning against the door frame while I assess my new surroundings.

I swallow painfully, trying to ignore the pounding ache between my ears and the ungodly pressure in my face. Christ, it feels like my skin is too tight to contain my skull.

"If you think he won't kill Daryl, you're wrong," I croak, eyeing the man.

"I ain't gon' let that happen, princess," he chuckles. "I'm gon' get my brother back. If you uh, if you play your cards right, you might jus' live to see it."

"You like this?" I rasp. "Bein' the Governor's  _ bitch? _ Doin' whatever he tells you you're doin'? He says jump, you say how high, right?"

"You gon' wanna shut your pretty little mouth, ginger," he warns softly. "'Fore I have to shut it for you."

"Thought you didn't like takin' orders, Dixon," I sigh, shaking my head disparagingly.

"I  _ don't, _ " he says flatly, eyes boring into mine. "I like bein' alive."

"Seems you got a choice to make, then," I tell him quietly. "'Cause if you try to save Daryl, he's gonna kill you with the rest of us. If you don't… well, at least you'll be  _ alive, _ right?"

His carefully maintained mask of amused apathy falters, slips for just a moment. It's long enough, though. Long enough to give him away. He knows I'm right. He still cares for his brother more than anything else. He's gonna have to pick a side, which might cost him his life, and he's  _ scared. _ Then that wall goes right back up, a shit-eating grin concealing his fear.

"Hm," he chuckles, eyeing me up and down. "Glad we could catch up."

With that, he leaves me to myself, casually strolling from the room. The door closes, a deadbolt sliding into place. I hold my breath, listening intently as his heavy footfalls fade. He's leaving? Good. I got shit to do.

*Daryl's POV*

We can't see shit. It's dark, for one thing. But the main problem here is the wall around the town. It's tall, at least twelve feet. Bricks, sandbags, and tires stacked up on flatbed trailers, reinforced with sheets of corrugated metal. We can't see much of what lies beyond that, just the tops of several redbrick buildings.

We got three men, all of 'em armed, standing watch atop this side of the wall, and if we get any closer we'll be seen. So we've been crouched here behind a Jeep Cherokee, waiting for the changing of the guard, for an hour. Seems I ain't the only one getting antsy.

"Hey!" Rick hisses, watching Sword Lady sneak off around the other cars. "Hey!"

She ain't listening. She don't even hesitate, just disappears into the dark.

"Damn it!" Rick mutters. "All right, we need to downsize."

He's right. We ain't gonna get in and out with all our shit. We'd each brought a duffel bag, all of 'em full of weapons, ammo, grenades. We're gonna have to pick and choose.

"Ain't no way we're gon' check in all them buildin's," I point out, rifling through the bags for loose rounds. "Not with all them guards there."

Before anyone else can say a damn thing, a twig snaps. It ain't loud, but in territory this hostile it may as well have been a gunshot. It ain't. Sword Lady, frantically motioning for us to follow her. She should know better than sneaking up on people like that, the hell's wrong with this girl?

"All right," Rick whispers. "Let's go."

We take what we can and follow her. She leads us through the trees, around to the back of one of the buildings. There's an open door. Stupid. Anybody could get in here. Looks to be mostly food storage, shelves piled high with canned and bottled goods, table and chairs dotting the edges of the room.

"This is where you were held?" Rick questions, eyeing our guide.

"I was questioned," she mutters, glaring around the room.

"Any idea where else they could be?" Rick demands.

She don't answer and we ain't got time to waste dragging one out of her. I sprint across the room and pull a floral patterned curtain aside, peering out the window into the street. There's people milling about the road, talking, laughing.

"I thought you said there was curfew," I grunt, glaring at the woman.

"The street is  _ packed _ during the day," she snaps. "Those are stragglers."

"If anyone comes in here, we're sittin' ducks,'' Rick points out. "We gotta move."

"They could be in his apartment," Sword Lady suggests.

"Yeah?" I hiss. "What if they ain't?"

"Then we'll look somewhere else," she snarls.

"You said you could help us," Rick says, voice fraying.

"I'm doin' what I can," she insists.

"Then where in the hell are they?" Oscar demands.

She don't answer. She can't. She don't know where the hell they are any more than we do. Christ, if Adrienne's dead, if she's hurt… Rick motions Oscar and I aside.

"If this goes south, we're cuttin' her loose," he whispers.

"You think she's leadin' us into a trap?" Oscar questions.

"Right now it's the blind leadin' the blind,'' I point out. "Let's split up."

Rick looks like he might be considering that idea, but then a knock sounds at the door, three rapid thumps, the jangling of keys giving away our visitor only seconds before they discover us. Those seconds are enough, though, and the four of us duck out of sight.

"I know you're in here," a man announces, slowly moving about the room. "I saw you movin' from outside. All right, now. You're not supposed to be in here and you know it."

He's getting closer, moving into the smaller, back portion of the room.

"Who's in here?" He demands.

Rick's got him, though. He dives out from behind a curtain, shoving the man against the wall, gun to his head. Oscar and I flank him, weapons drawn.

"Shut up!" Rick hisses. "Get on your knees."

The man drops, remaining obediently silent.

"Hands behind your back," Rick orders, glancing up at me. "Zip tie 'im."

I oblige, pulling the ties from my pocket and looping them around the man's wrists.

"Where are our people?" Rick demands.

"I dunno," the man insists. "I dunno."

"You are holdin' some of our people!" Rick hisses, grabbing the poor bastard by the collar. "Where the hell are they?"

"I don't know," the man says, eyes wide with confusion.

"Open your mouth," Rick orders.

He don't wait for him to do it before jamming a handkerchief between his teeth. That's my cue. I bring the blunt end of my crossbow down on the back of his head, knocking the sumbitch out. Hopefully we'll be long gone by the time he wakes up. But something's wrong. There's gunfire. A lot of it.

*Adrienne's POV*

I'm leaving. I'm gonna go get Maggie and Glenn and we're getting the hell outta here. But first, I'm gonna take advantage of the  _ amenities. _ I guzzle down half a bottle of water in record time, gulping noisily despite the pain in my throat, before shoving both bottles into the side pockets of my cargos, along with the oyster crackers and jerky. It'll be better than nothing, and Glenn especially is gonna need it.

I select the biggest apple from the fruit plate, chewing my way through it like some kind of possessed beaver. I don't know how long I've got, I don't have time to waste on being dainty. Not that I'm dainty anyway. I toss the core onto the floor, taking great pleasure in stomping it into the carpet before moving on to the next thing on my agenda. They never should've left me in such a bright, white room.

It's sick, I know, but… I don't care. Most of my wounds have stopped bleeding at this point, but not the jagged hole my father had taken the liberty of reopening for me. I lift my tank top and press my hand to the wound, coming away with a gleaming, blood slicked palm, which I slap against the back of the door.

I step back, admiring my handiwork for a moment. It's the perfect place for it. No one will be the wiser until they dump some other poor bastard into this room and close the door. Have fun explaining that shit. I dump the plate of fruit onto the bed. I leave that alone. Wasting food these days feels barbaric. I won't do it. The plate, however, is made of flimsy plastic, the kind that snaps at the slightest bend.

I snap the plate into two nearly equal pieces, then snap one of those in half and in half again. It's not nearly so good as a blade or gun, but it's sharp enough. It'll do fine for now. I pop a couple strawberries into my mouth and give the room one last cursory look. It's time. I yank the blue blanket from the bed and wrap it around my right arm, crossing to the light switch beside the door and flicking the lamp off before padding my way towards the window.

I'm on the ground floor, the drop is next to nothing. For a man who thinks he's got all the brains in the world, Philip Blake sure is a dumbass. I part the blinds and peek outside, noting with some relief that I'm in a room at the back of the building. I can get out unseen by anyone who may still be out in the street. I turn to the side and thrust my elbow as hard as I can at the window, glass shattering from the frame. I knock out the jagged bits still clinging to the frame and drape the blanket over the window sill.

The drop to the ground is not graceful. It had been a longer fall than I realized, about six feet due to the slope of the hill this building sits upon, and I land hard on my knees. Still, they're not broken. I'm free.

Then the gunfire starts.

*Daryl's POV*

We follow the gunfire into some kind of storage facility. A maze of unfinished walls made of the same corrugated metal as the gates outside, cold, industrial lighting, concrete floors… the rest of the town, as far as we've seen, is picture fucking perfect. But not this place. We duck down out of sight.

"On your feet, move!" A man somewhere around the corner orders. "Let's go, come on."

"Shit," Rick mutters, snatching a grenade from the one bag we'd brought along.

He pulls the pin and tosses it around the corner. It explodes, tear gas filling the air with a thick fog. I catch a glimpse of two, maybe three men with guns as they duck into a hallway, retreating. I ain't gonna chase 'em down. That ain't why we came here. Priority is getting our people out. But… there's only two of 'em. Glenn and Maggie. Where the hell's Adrienne?

I ain't got time to ask, not yet. Glenn's in real bad shape. We haul ass down the street, taking cover inside an empty building that looks like it used to be some kind of restaurant. I sprint to the back of the place, searching for a door, a window, anything.

"Ain't no way out back here," I inform the group, returning to them.

"Adie," Glenn croaks.

Holy hell. Someone beat the shit outta him. He's got broken bones in his face, I'm sure. He's bloody, bruised. Maggie don't seem to have a scratch on her, but that don't mean nothin'.

"Where is she?" Rick demands.

"We… we don't know," Maggie says. "They left her in a different room, we… she was screamin'. They took her somewhere else, I don't know where. We haven't seen her for hours."

Hours. They ain't seen her for  _ hours. _ They were about to be  _ executed, _ why wouldn't Adie be with them? Unless she's… she's already dead. No. No, she ain't. She can't be.

"Rick, how did you find us?" Maggie questions.

"How bad are you hurt?" Rick asks, ignoring her, focused on Glenn.

"I'll be alright," he assures us weakly.

"Where's that woman?" Maggie demands, and that's when we realize Sword Lady ain't with us.

"She was right behind us," Rick frets, peering out the window.

"Maybe she was spotted," Oscar suggests.

"Want me to go look for her?" I ask.

"No," Rick says adamantly. "We gotta get 'em outta here. She's on her own."

"What about Adie?" Oscar demands.

A chill settles over the room. We gotta make a choice. Rick's torn. But Glenn… he ain't gonna make it if we stay to look for her. Adie would kick all our asses for even hesitating.

"She'd want us to get Glenn out first," Rick says heavily, echoing my thoughts. "For now, she's on her own, too."

"Daryl," Glenn rasps while Maggie helps him into a jacket she'd plucked from the back of a chair.

What the hell happened? Maggie's wearing Glenn's shirt, and something tells me it ain't 'cause she was cold.

"This was Merle," Glenn announces.

What? My brother… he's alive?

"It was," he swallows, eyeing me. "He did this."

"You saw him?" Rick demands.

"Face to face," Glenn confirms. "He threw a walker at me. He was gonna execute us."

"So, so my brother's this Governor?" I question, trying to put the pieces together.

"No, he's… somebody else," Maggie says hesitantly, her brow furrowing, eyes unreadable. "He knows Adie."

"What the hell do you mean, he knows Adie?" Oscar demands. "What, they're friends?"

"No, I don't know," Maggie shakes her head, tears welling in her eyes. "She's his, she's his daughter."

"So what's my brother got to do with all this?" I demand.

"Your brother's his lieutenant or somethin'," Maggie tells me.

"Does he know I'm still with you?" I question.

"He does now," Glenn murmurs. "Rick, I'm sorry. We told him where the prison was. We couldn't hold out."

"Don't," Rick says firmly. "No need to apologize."

"They're gonna be lookin' for us," Maggie points out frantically.

"We have to get back," Rick agrees, eyeing Glenn with concern. "Can you walk? We got a car a few miles out."

"I'm good," Glenn assures him, allowing Rick and Maggie to pull him to his feet.

"Hey, if Merle's around, I need to see 'im," I insist.

"Not now," Rick argues. "We're in hostile territory."

"He's my brother!" I protest, pissed at my voice for cracking. "I ain't gonna-"

"Look at what he did!" Rick hisses. "Look, we gotta, we gotta get outta here  _ now. _ "

"Maybe I can talk to 'im,'' I bargain hopefully. "Maybe he knows where they took Adie, maybe, maybe I can work somethin' out!"

"No, no, no," Rick soothes. "You're not thinkin' straight. Look, no matter what they say, they're hurt. We don't know if Adie's even alive. Glenn can barely walk. How're we gonna make it out if we get overrun by walkers, or this Governor catches up to us? I _ need  _ you."

But Merle's my brother. I ain't just gonna leave him. I already did that once. And if there's a chance Adie's alive, I gotta find her.

"Are you with me?" Rick questions softly.

"Yeah."

*Adrienne's POV*

I've made my way back into the storage area where we were held initially. The gunfire stopped several minutes ago, there are armed soldiers running through the streets, but none of that concerns me just now. Maggie and Glenn are gone. There's nothing in the room they'd been held in with the exception of a mutilated walker, some dead guy just outside the door, and a hell of a lot of blood.

God damn it, think. Okay. They're not here. Dead guy in the hallway, bullet shells… so they fought their way outta here. They're the reason for the gunfire. The question is, how far did they make it? If they made it through the gates, there wouldn't be people wandering the streets with guns looking for 'em, right? So they've gotta be holed up here somewhere. I can't leave without 'em. I won't.

I'm still standing here, debating my options, when a whole hell of a lot more gunfire erupts outside. Christ. I tighten my grip on the plastic shiv that is my sole weapon and creep my way through the building, out into the alley behind it. Clear. I tip-toe around the corner and move towards the front of the building, peering into the main street. There's smoke everywhere, I can't see a damn thing aside from vaguely human shaped shadows darting through the fog.

The fog… like the grenades from the prison would release. They're here. I don't know how the hell they  _ got _ here, how they knew where to even start, but Daryl must have tracked us here. They must've found Glenn and Maggie, or maybe Glenn and Maggie found them. For all they know, I'm dead. Glenn's gonna be in rough shape. So they're leaving while they can, not about to risk losing anybody to come looking for me. Good. It's the logical choice, it's what I would do.

Finding my people in this mess is an endeavor likely to end with a bullet in my back. I have to just trust that they got this handled. Keep myself alive, 'cause no one else will. I'm gonna need a gun. I flatten myself against the wall and wait, knowing someone armed is bound to come scurrying by sooner or later.

*Daryl's POV*

"How many?" Rick hollers as he, Oscar, Glenn, Maggie and I duck for cover in a small alcove in front of a doorway.

"I didn't see," Oscar says breathlessly.

"Don't matter," I snarl, reloading my gun and searching through our bag for another grenade. "There's gonna be more of 'em. We need to move."

"Any grenades left?" Rick demands.

"Uh-huh," I confirm.

"Get 'em ready," he orders. "We gotta gun it to the wall."

"You guys go on ahead," I tell them. "I'm gon' lay down some cover fire."

I know it's selfish, but I ain't leaving. I'm gonna help get my people outta here, and then I'm gonna find my brother. Find Adrienne, if she's alive. Hell, if she's alive or not. I'm bringing her body back one way or another. I ain't leaving her here. We bury the ones we love.

"No, we gotta stay together," Maggie insists.

"Too hairy," I wave her off. "I'll be right behind you. Ready?"

I step forward, hurling a grenade into the street while the others surge out from hiding, bullets flying as they make a run for the wall. I dive behind one of the park benches dotting the sidewalk, firing at the shadows of the Woodbury men at the other end of the street, hoping to at least keep 'em occupied long enough for Maggie, Rick, Glenn, and Oscar to hop the wall. But they're still being shot at and Oscar goes down. Damn it! This was supposed to be simple, in and out, grab our people and go.

But that was before I found out Merle's alive.

"Daryl!" Rick roars, motioning for me to follow him.

"Go!" I holler, reloading my gun and releasing several more rounds into the Woodbury men.

I ain't leaving. Not without Merle, not without Adrienne. I won't.

*Adrienne's POV*

I've only been waiting a couple minutes when I hear footsteps rapidly approaching, the dim, flickering light from the tiki torches casting the long, dark shadow of a man across the sidewalk in front of me. Armed, of course. At least it's just one guy. Two would be a pain in the ass, especially armed with a pathetic little sliver of plastic, already injured. Steeling myself, I spring from the alley.

The man is carrying a handgun, and I silently thank whoever is listening for that small mercy. He's got the gun aimed at my head. Moving faster than I thought myself capable in my condition, I go for the gun, shoving the man's arms upward, ducking my head as his shot goes off, the round missing his intended target and careening off into the night. I wrap one hand around the slide and squeeze his trigger hand with the other, forcing his fingers to loosen so I can wrest the gun from his grip.

Gun in hand, I eject the casing, relieved when I hear another round slide into the chamber. I only really need one bullet.

"No! Please, I-"

I fire a shot into his head and drag the body into the alleyway. I pat him down, searching for loose rounds, knives, a secondary piece... no way. As it happens, this bastard has  _ my  _ Glock tucked into the back of his waistband, and it's still fully loaded. I'll be damned. I tuck his Smith and Wesson into the back of my waistband and discard my shiv in favor of the buck knife dangling from the man's belt.

If the lack of gunfire in the air is any indication, my people made it out. It's either that or they're all dead. I'm banking on the former. I can't afford to think otherwise. Alive, dead, either way, it's time to go. I circle around to the back of the Governor's building, keeping to the shadows as I sidestep my way along the perimeter wall. It's quiet. No gunfire. No screaming, no-

Wait. A twig snaps and I whirl around, Glock aimed at the head of a dark-skinned woman wielding a katana.

"Adrienne?" She questions, arms raised, voice low and husky.

"Who the hell're you?" I hiss, unmoving.

The strange woman just stares at me, silent. She's hurt. Bleeding. Her clothes are soaked with something foul smelling, reminiscent of frog dissections in biology. Where in the hell did this chick come from?

" _ Who are you? _ " I repeat.

"I'm with a friend of yours," she huffs. "Rick Grimes."

No. No, it's too easy.

"Merle could've told you that name," I point out. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you."

" _ Hershel, _ " she counters, unfazed, eyes flashing. "Maggie's dad. Right?"

Hershel. Merle never met him. Still, they could've gotten names from Maggie and Glenn. Beaten it out of them, used 'em against each other. It worked well enough getting them to admit where the prison is.

"Where's Rick now?"

"I can take you to him," she says flatly. "If your people got out, I know where they'll be."

"Who else?" I demand. "Who's with you?"

"Oscar. And another guy, Daryl."

"Daryl's here?" I breathe, blinking back the unbidden tears suddenly pricking at my eyes. "Is he alive?"

She nods, eyes narrowing.

"Take me to 'em," I relent, lowering my gun when she sheaths her sword. "Please."

Her eyes widen, seemingly in surprise. She collects herself, then motions for me to follow her. She leads me to the back wall, which isn't nearly as well lit as the wall with the gate, but just as heavily patrolled. Still, under the lingering haze of the smoke, we're able to climb up and over the southeast corner of the wall unseen. We dive into the trees, arcing around to a set of train tracks that run through the forest, parallel to the town.

We reach a set of abandoned train cars several yards from the gates of Woodbury. She points expectantly, motioning for me to crawl underneath one of the cars and out the other side. I shake my head.

"You first." I mouth, waiting.

She rolls her eyes, silently dropping down on all fours and army crawling her way across the tracks.

"Where the hell were you?" Rick's voice demands. "Put your hands up. Turn around, turn around!"

Holy shit. She wasn't lying. I drop to the ground and scramble beneath the train car to the other side. Rick, Glenn, and Maggie are here, eyes going wide at my sudden appearance. Rick has disarmed katana woman. Maggie looks to be relatively unharmed, at least physically, but Glenn… my god, he looks like hell, his face barely recognizable beneath all the blood and the swelling.

"Adie," Maggie chokes out, tears sliding down her cheeks. "We thought you were… we never would've left if we knew you were alive."

"I know," I rasp, voice still sore from...

"What the hell happened?" Rick demands, stricken, taking in the blood, the bruises, the blackened ghosts of the hands around my throat. "Merle do this to you?"

"No," I mutter, reaching into my pockets and tossing the pilfered food and water bottles to Maggie.

"Get what you came for?" Rick spits, glaring at katana woman.

"She helped me," I tell him quietly, then turn my attention to our strange, new companion. "You said there were others. Oscar. Daryl."

"Where are the rest of your people?" She questions calmly, despite being backed against the train car under the threat of Rick's gun.

"They got Oscar," Glenn snarls.

"Daryl's missin', you didn't see 'im?" Maggie demands, the woman shaking her head.

"Missin'?" I repeat, horrified. "How long?"

"Twenty minutes," Glenn coughs, spitting blood into the dirt. "Or so."

"Does he know Merle's here?" I demand.

"Yeah, we told him this was him," Glenn mutters bitterly.

"Shit," I sigh, raking a hand through my hair.

Daryl's not missing at all.

"This Governor," Rick says flatly, turning his attention to me. "Maggie says you know 'im. That you're his, you're his daughter. Is that true?"

Four sets of eyes flicker to my face and I swallow hard, wishing for nothing more than to be swallowed up by the dirt.

"Yes," I breathe. "It's true."

"Who is he?" He demands. "I need a name, Adie."

"Philip Blake."

My voice breaks, his name sickly, sticking in my throat before scraping itself free from my lips, and I'm suddenly too exhausted to stand. I sink to my knees and finally, finally let go. What happened tonight, what happened years ago, the roving hands and invasive eyes, the sense that I can't exist in my body without someone else  _ there... _

The ache in my soul is too much, and I sob, shoulders shaking as I collapse inside, my mind nearly unraveling itself as I struggle to process what is and what used to be, wounds of the past gaping open for all to see. Rick rushes to my side, kneeling and pulling me in, smoothing my hair as I quake against him, unable to stop the torrent of sorrow flooding my body. He was a cop. I don't have to tell him what my father is. He knows.

"If anything happens to him, I will-" Rick starts, but the woman interrupts.

"I brought you here to save them," she says, almost defensively.

"Thanks for the help," Rick says sarcastically, unimpressed.

"You'll need help to get them back to the prison or to go back in there for Daryl," she points out. "Either way… you need me."

"He'll kill him," I croak hoarsely, lifting my eyes to Rick's. "We, we, we have to go back.  _ Please. _ "

His eyes soften in understanding, and he helps me to my feet. He knows I can't leave Daryl. He can't either.


	36. Just Follow my Lead, Little Brother

**Chapter 36**

*Daryl's POV*

They've taken me, put a bag over my head. I still ain't seen Merle. Adrienne, neither. Before too long, I'm being pulled roughly to my feet, led somewhere. I can't see a goddamn thing, but I can hear a man. He's giving some kind of speech. Must be this elusive Governor. The space is large, there's a crowd. Fire. I can smell fire.

"This is one of the terrorists!" The man announces, a new hand gripping my arm, the sack torn from my head. "Merle's own brother!"

Time grinds to a halt. Merle. It's Merle. My brother. Also among the crowd is Andrea, real close to the Governor. She'd survived the attack on the farm, somehow ended up here. Hell, I thought she was dead. Then again, I'd accepted Merle's death, too, and here he is, right in front of me. We're in the middle of some kind of makeshift arena. Face to face. Yeah, it's Merle alright. Alive. Some kinda metal cover over the missing hand on his stump arm. The expression on his face… I ain't seen him look this way in years. Decades. He's scared.

"So what should we do with them, huh?" The Governor questions the angry crowd, the reply being scattered shouts of 'kill 'em'! "What? What you want?"

The crowd gets angrier, mob mentality in full effect. I'm looking at Merle. Merle's looking right back. I know he's thinking the same thing I am. How the fuck do we get outta this one?

It suddenly hits me that this man with the vice grip on my arm, this Governor… this is Adrienne's father. She don't look nothin' like him, except maybe her ears. He's got flat, brown hair, and the one eye I can see… icy blue. Cold. Nothing like the warm amber and green of his daughter's. His other eye's missing. Pretty goddamn recently, if the fresh bandaging wrapped around his head and the gauze pad concealing the injury from view is any indication.

"You wanted your brother," The Governor states, approaching Merle. "Now you got 'im."

"Let him go!" Andrea orders, trying to break through the Governor's men. "Philip!"

"Stay outta this," one of the cronies warns her.

"He's my friend!" She protests.

"It's not up to me anymore," The Governor points out. "The people have spoken."

"What?" Andrea demands.

"I asked you where your loyalties lie," The Governor raises his voice, now addressing Merle. "You said here. Well, prove it. Prove it to us all. Brother against brother. Winner goes free. Fight! To the death!"

The crowd around us cheers like a bunch of bloodthirsty, maniacal sycophants.

"Philip, please," Andrea begs. "Don't do this. Don't do this!"

The Governor ignores her as the crowd begins to root for Merle. Seems he's well liked around here.

"Y'all know me!" He cries, rallying the audience. "I'm gonna do whatever I gotta do to prove-" he pauses, landing a punch to my gut that knocks the wind out of me, continuing his little speech while I cough and sputter on the ground. "That my loyalty..." another pause, this time with a kick to the gut. "...is to this town!"

I didn't really think it would come to this, that my brother would try to kill me. But I gotta fight him. 'Cause apparently his loyalty to this town far surpasses his loyalty to me. So I'll fight. He ain't giving me a choice. And then, as if this wasn't shitty enough already, these fuckers bring in walkers on leads, just like the ones at the farm.

"You really think this asshole's gonna let you go?" I growl, hands around Merle's neck as we lock in a stalemate.

"Just follow my lead, little brother," he hisses under his breath. "We're gettin' outta this, right now!"

And, just like that, I trust him again. He pulls me up and we stand back to back, surrounded by walkers and a crowd of bloodthirsty townspeople. And we fight, just like we always have. With only each other to rely on. It's hopeless, and I know that. But we ain't going down without one hell of a fight. Suddenly, a single bullet soars through the air, piercing one of the walkers clean through the head.

I look around and I swear to god, I catch a glimpse of crimson curls disappearing behind the stands just before chaos erupts. Adrienne. She's alive. Bullets are flying, lights shot out and several walkers taken down within seconds. A flash bang goes off and, under the cover of the smoke, our odds of winning this fight have dramatically improved.

"C'mon, little brother!" Merle cries. "Stay close!"

But he's going the wrong way. I can see Maggie and Rick on the other side of the arena, frantically motioning for us to join them. They came back for us.

"Merle, come on!" I snarl, tearing towards the open side of the building, snatching my crossbow from some asshole on the way past.

"Daryl!" Rick beckons, and we run.

Maggie, Merle, Rick…

"Where's Adie?" I demand breathlessly, frantically, knowing I'd seen her. "Rick!"

Then there she is, hurtling towards us, no intention of slowing as she flings a grenade over her shoulder. She's got one of my arrows in her other hand, and I ain't sure if I'm grateful or pissed she stopped long enough to grab it.

"Run!" She snarls, a small explosion downing a portion of the Governor's arena as she flies past the rest of us. "C'mon, move your ass!"

She's alive. She's alive and I got my brother back. We're going home.

*Adrienne's POV*

"They're all at the arena!" Merle cries. "This way!"

"You're not goin' anywhere with us!" Rick shouts.

"You really wanna do this now?" I snap, bullets still flying as Merle breaks a panel out of the wall with his metal stump arm. 

Damn, that's useful. Even with the blade detached, that thing is nothing short of fucking  _ efficient. _

"Rick, c'mon, we gotta go!" Daryl orders, following his brother through the hole in the wall, grabbing my hand to help guide me through behind him.

"Little help would be nice!" Merle shouts, walkers closing in. "We ain't got time for this!"

"Let's go!" Daryl cries, following Merle.

We run, trailing behind the reunited Dixon brothers for a couple miles before reaching the car Rick and Daryl had left on the side of the road last night just as dawn breaks overhead.

"Glenn!" Rick calls, and Glenn rushes forward, relieved eyes on Maggie. "Now we got a problem here, I need you to back up."

"What the hell is he doing here?" Glenn cries indignantly, whipping his gun out as the strange woman we still don't know brandishes her katana.

There's a chorus of heys and put it downs, Merle's reception going about as well as anyone could have predicted. I place my body in front of Daryl's, back against his chest, as Glenn and the woman with the sword rush Merle.

"He tried to kill me!" Katana lady snarls.

"If it wasn't for him-" Glenn starts.

"Nah, he helped us get outta there!" Daryl growls defensively.

"Yeah, right after he beat the shit outta you!" Rick hisses.

"Hey, we both took our licks, man," Merle points out.

"Jackass," Daryl mutters.

"Hey, shut up!" Merle retorts.

"Enough!" Rick orders, all hell breaking loose as Glenn, Maggie and katana lady continue to argue.

"Get that thing outta my face!" Daryl snarls, Glenn's weapon trained on him.

"Man," Merle chuckles. "Look like you've gone native, brother."

"No more 'n you, hangin' out with that fuckin' psycho back there!" Daryl counters, wheeling on his brother.

"Oh, yeah, man," Merle says lazily. "He is a charmer, I gotta tell you that. Been puttin' the wood to your girlfriend Andrea, big time baby." 

He moans mockingly, licking his lips and making a kissy face at katana woman.

"What?" I demand. "She's sleepin' with him?"

"If you wanna call it that, princess," Merle says with a cackle.

It's too much.

"I'm gonna be sick," I groan, dropping to my knees and lurching forward, vomit erupting from my mouth as Merle roars with laughter.

"Oh, come on, sugar," he chortles. "He ain't that ugly."

"Shut up," Daryl hisses, eyeing me with concern as I get back to my feet, wiping my mouth, the acrid taste of bile on my tongue.

I'm shivering, and Daryl strips his vest off, sliding it over my shoulders. I shoot him a grateful glance, wrapping my arms around my body. He doesn't see it though. He's staring, horror-stricken, at my neck.

"Andrea's boyfriend doesn't like me much," I mutter, letting my hair fall forward to conceal my battered skin.

"Andrea's in Woodbury?" Glenn asks, shocked.

"Yeah, right next to the Governor," Daryl confirms, and my stomach flips.

"I told you to drop that!" Rick yells, the stranger amongst us having lunged at Merle, brandishing her katana. "You know Andrea? Hey, do you know Andrea?"

"Yep, she does," Merle drawls, thoroughly enjoying the conversation. "Her and Blondie spent all winter cuddlin' up in the forest. Mmm, mmm, mmm. Yeah. My  _ Nubian queen _ here had two pet walkers. No arms, cut off the jaws, kept 'em in chains."

"That's… that's genius," I breathe, staring at the woman with new eyes.

"Kind of ironic, now I think about it," Merle chuckles.

"Shut up, bro!" Daryl roars.

"Hey, man, we snagged 'em outta the woods," Merle informs us. "Andrea was close to dyin'."

"Is that why she's with him?" Maggie demands.

"Yeah," Merle confirms happily. "Snug as two little bugs."

"Shut the fuck up, Merle," I snarl. "You have no idea the kind of man you're talkin' about."

"Oh, still not a fan of Daddy, are you princess?" Merle mocks, pouting. "Even after he gave you the tour, huh?  _ Adie Bee? _ "

I balk.  _ Adie Bee... _ no. No, fuck this. I am  _ not  _ a little girl anymore.

"Christ, Merle, shut the hell up!" Daryl snaps.

I stalk forward, right past Daryl, and, before anyone can stop me, shove Merle up against a tree, forearm resting across his throat.

"Oh, shit," Merle cackles gleefully, licking his lips. "Not to burst your bubble, sugar, but you're really jus' turnin' me on now, and if that ain't the goal, well, uh… you may wanna take a step back." 

" _ You don't know what he is, _ " I hiss, unphased.

His face softens as he looks at me, eyes welling with something resembling sympathy for the briefest of moments. I step away from him, moving back to stand between Glenn and Daryl.

"Nice outfit," he says, smirking at Daryl before turning his attention to Rick. "So whatcha gonna do now, Sheriff, huh? Surrounded by a buncha liars, thugs, 'n cowards."

"Shut up!" Rick orders.

"Oh, man, look at this," Merle continues merrily. "Pathetic! All these guns 'n no bullets in 'em."

"Daryl," Rick sighs, nearing the end of his rope. "Daryl, Daryl, you better shut him up."

"Merle, shut up!" Daryl snarls.

"Shut up yourself!" Merle roars. "Buncha pussies you roll-"

He's cut off abruptly, Rick knocking him on his ass with a mean pistol whip to the head.

"Asshole," Rick sighs, following Glenn to the road.

We all trail after them, leaving Merle in an unconscious heap while we discuss what to do with him.

"It won't work," Rick says outright.

"It's gotta," Daryl retorts.

"It'll stir things up," Rick counters.

"Look, the Governor's probably on his way to the prison right now," Daryl points out. "Merle knows how he thinks 'n we could use the muscle."

"I'm not having him at the prison," Maggie protests.

"He put a  _ gun _ to our heads, do you really want him sleeping in the same cell block as Carol or Beth?" Glenn demands. "Or  _ Adrienne? _ " He adds pointedly.

"He ain't a rapist," Daryl argues.

"Well his buddy is!" Glenn fires back, bristling, gesturing at me. "Look at her!"

"Please don't," I whisper, not wanting to talk about any of it.

I don't want their eyes on me.

"They ain't buddies no more, not after last night," Daryl insists, looking anywhere but at my face.

"There's no way Merle's gonna live there without puttin' everyone at each other's throats," Rick points out. 

"So you're gonna cut Merle loose and bring the last  _ samurai _ home with us?" Daryl questions indignantly.

"She's not comin' back," Rick counters.

"She's not in a state to be on her own," Maggie argues.

"She did bring you guys to us," Glenn adds.

"And then ditched us," Rick points out flatly.

"At least let my dad stitch her up," Maggie bargains.

"She's too unpredictable," Rick argues.

"She helped me find you," I point out. "Might not've made it out without her."

"She's a stranger," Rick hisses.

"'S'right, we don't know who she is," Daryl agrees. "But Merle, Merle's blood."

"No, Merle is  _ your _ blood," Glenn counters. "My blood,  _ my _ family, is standing right here and waiting for us back at the prison."

"And you're part of that family," Rick adds emphatically as Merle groans, coming to. "But he's not. He's not."

"Man, y'all don't know," Daryl spits, defeated. "Fine. We'll fend for ourselves."

"Daryl," I breathe, stricken.

"That's not what I was saying!" Glenn insists.

"No him, no me," Daryl says stubbornly.

"Daryl, you don't have to do that," Maggie protests.

"It was always Merle and I before this," Daryl argues.

"You serious?" Glenn questions. "You're just gonna leave like that?"

"You'd do the same thing," Daryl points out.

"And what do you want us to tell Carol?" Glenn asks.

" _ Carol _ ?" I blurt, brows furrowing in confusion.

"Daryl found her in the tombs," Rick informs me. "Holed up in one of the cells."

"She'll understand," Daryl says firmly.

"What about me?" I whisper, gazing at the man in front of me.

I'm in love with you, I think to myself, silently pleading with any entity listening to change his mind. Don't leave me.

"Daryl-"

"I ain't tryin' to be nothin' to nobody," he snarls, still avoiding even a glance in my direction.

The words damn near knock the wind out of me. He's not trying to be anything to anyone. Sure as hell had me fooled.

"Say goodbye to your pop for me," Daryl tells Maggie, shouldering past her.

*Daryl's POV*

I can't look at her. I'm not leaving my brother, I ain't gonna do that to him, and I don't think she's asking me to, but Rick is. Glenn, Maggie, they can't accept him. Adie is just gonna have to get over it, and Carol will, too. He's my brother.

"Daryl, are you serious?" Glenn demands. "Daryl!"

I am serious. I'm walking away. Part of me hopes they'll change their minds. That they'll give in, learn to live with Merle. I ain't bluffing, though. I'll walk away if that's how they want it.

"Hey," Rick murmurs, falling into step beside me. "Hey. There's gotta be another way."

I stop in my tracks, staring at the man. There ain't another way and he knows it.

"Don't ask me to leave him," I mutter, continuing my way to the back of the Hyundai. "I already did that once."

"We started somethin' last night," Rick protests, trailing me. "You realize that, huh?"

"No him, no me," I repeat, lifting the trunk door. "That's all I can say."

He just stands there, silent, while I rifle through the supplies. I ain't gonna take much. Merle and me can get by with a little. We've done it before.

"Take care of yourself," I murmur. "Take care of Little Ass Kicker. Carl."

Adrienne. She can take care of herself, I know, but she's reckless. She takes care of everyone else first, and even though she  _ can  _ take care of herself, more often than not she don't. I ain't gonna say any of that shit, though. Just give Rick one more thing to use to get me to stay.

"He's one tough kid," I finish.

I'm done. I turn away from him, from Maggie and Glenn and Adrienne, from Hershel and Carl and Beth, Carol and Ass Kicker.  _ They ain't your kin. _ Can't put a price on blood.

*Adrienne's POV*

"Adie…" Maggie tries to soothe, taking my arm. "Adrienne…"

But nothing can fix this. I shut it all off. I don't want to cry anymore. I don't want to think about Daryl. I don't want to think about Merle or Andrea or my father or the fucking  _ war _ that's bound to occur once Woodbury's back on their feet. I hurl myself into the passenger seat of the car and stare silently out the window. He left. Daryl  _ left. _

-

"Adie," Glenn murmurs some time later. "Adie, did he… your dad, did he-"

"Glenn!" Maggie hisses.

"I need to know," Glenn says firmly, catching my stricken eyes in the rearview mirror. "Did he-"

"We're not talkin' about this," I interrupt. " _ I'm _ not."

He falls silent, seething. I don't care. It's not his business. And I don't need him looking at me like I'm a victim. Eventually, we come across a truck and a downed tree blocking the road. We can't get through. Maggie, Glenn, Rick and I hop out of the car, katana woman opting to stay put. I can't say I blame her for not wanting to help. Rick hasn't exactly been kind to her. He hasn't said a word to me, either. I'm terrified. Glenn blames me, maybe Rick does, too. What if he sends me away? Sends me to my cell when we get back, tells me to pack what little shit I own and get out?

"Get the brakes," he instructs, moving to the front of the truck.

Glenn heads for the driver's side door as Maggie and I round the back, ready to push once Glenn's got the brake released. He opens the door and a walker lunges at him.

"Got it!" He shouts, tossing the walker to the ground.

He brings his foot down repeatedly,  _ violently, _ over and over again until there's nothing left, just an unrecognizable mass of flesh and brain matter where the walker's head used to be. I've never seen Glenn like this. Rick approaches him cautiously, eyes worried.

"You didn't kill him," Glenn pants, casting an accusatory glare at the man in front of him.

"That's not why we went back," Rick tells him calmly.

"No, that's right," Glenn hisses. "You went back for Daryl."

His name is like a knife to the gut.

"And now he's gone again and the  _ Governor _ is still alive," Glenn continues, pissed.

"Daryl was the priority," Rick counters.

"I should've been there with you."

"You were in no condition!"

"But my girlfriend was?" Glenn barks. " _ Adrienne _ was?! Look at her!"

"Glenn, this isn't about us," Maggie says soothingly.

"I should have been there," he repeats.

"Hey, hey, you didn't come back with us 'cause you could barely  _ walk! _ " Rick snaps.

"What about them?" Glenn demands.

"What about us, Glenn?" Maggie questions, stricken.

"Do you know what he did to them?!" Glenn howls. " _ Do you know?! _ "

"Leave it alone!" Maggie roars, shame creeping onto her face. "Let's go."

"After all that effort, all the risk we took, Daryl just takes off with  _ Merle? _ " Glenn questions.

"Well, he had his reasons," Rick mutters.

"He's his brother," I breathe, the tears starting right back up again.

"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that! Keep defending him when he wouldn't even  _ look  _ at you!" Glenn spits. "Doesn't change the fact that we're up to our necks in shit, thanks to his brother and  _ your _ dad."

He's blaming me.  _ Blood is blood. _ The tears in my eyes well over and slip down my cheeks. I claw them away, angry at them for even existing, and duck inside the cab of the truck, digging around in the glovebox while Rick and Glenn continue to argue. There's nothing here, just a handful of wint-o-green mints and a bunch of old receipts. I take the mints.

"You want me to turn the car around, beg him to come back?" Rick questions angrily. "Throw down a welcome mat for  _ Merle? _ This is the hand we've been dealt!"

"Let's just get this outta here and get back," Maggie suggests calmly. "Get some rest, we can talk it out there."

"No, you guys do all the talking you want," Glenn huffs. "I'm done."

And he is. Done talking, done helping. He hurls himself into the car while Rick, Maggie, and I clear the road and we head home in silence. We pull up to the gate, Carol and Carl yanking it open, and the sight of Carol… I never thought I'd see her again.

"Oh, my god..." I breathe, glancing at Rick.

The corners of his mouth twitch upward for the first time I'd seen since… well, since before Lori died. We pull in, and before the car even stops I'm throwing myself from it, racing toward the woman back from the dead. She pulls me into her arms and I'm sobbing again, ignoring the pain from the cuts on my body as she holds me tight.

"I… I can't, it's, you, how did…" I blubber, unable to form a coherent sentence.

She just chuckles, kissing my tear stained cheeks.

"Drive 'em up, I'll meet you there," Rick tells Maggie, climbing out of the vehicle and embracing his son. "Thank god. Adie, you need stitches. Where's Hershel?"

"He's in the cell block," Carl supplies.

Carol releases me, peering into the car windows and my heart drops. I know who she's looking for. She won't find him.

"Where's Daryl?" She questions, panic rising in her voice.

"It's all right," Rick assures her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "He's alive. We ran into his brother. They went off."

"He left?" She asks, turning to me, stricken. "Daryl left?"

I nod, fresh tears welling in my eyes, spilling down my cheeks. Christ, I don't want to cry anymore.

"He, he's  _ gone? _ " She wheels on Rick. "Is he coming back?"

Rick can't answer. That's answer enough for Carol and she takes my hand, the four of us walking into the prison together.

"And Oscar?" Carl questions.

"No," Rick says heavily, grieving yet another loss, and I wonder how much more we can take.

We approach Hershel and the others outside the cell block. Beth rushes forward, hugging Rick and planting a kiss on his cheek before turning and embracing me gently.

"You're hurt," she says, concerned.

"I'll be okay," I assure her, and she nods, heading inside with Maggie.

"Go on," Rick tells Carl and Carol, and they follow the Greene sisters inside.

"You came through," Hershel says gratefully. "Like always. Sounds like we have a new problem on our hands."

"Yeah," Rick sighs.

"You get a good look at 'im?" Hershel questions, squeezing my hand in greeting.

Rick shakes his head, eyeing me.

"He had Daryl and Merle pitted against each other," he informs Hershel, disgust dripping from his voice. "Crowd cheerin' for them to fight to the death. What kind of a sick mind does that?"

"The kind this world creates," Hershel says sagely.

"He was sick before," I mutter quietly, the two men glancing at me, Hershel with curiosity and Rick with… pity.

I can't bear that look. I  _ can't. _ I head inside, intent on hiding away in my cell forever, or at least until tomorrow morning, but there's a group of people I don't recognize just outside the door to our block. They're in the cage, under Carl's watchful eye.

"Carl, who the  _ hell _ are these people?" I hiss.

"I saved them," he offers simply.

"You saved them," I repeat wearily, nodding. "Okay."

"I'm Tyreese," a burly man in a knit beanie, the clear leader of his ragtag little quartet, announces, offering a hand.

I can't handle any more information right now. I ignore the hand and scowl at the newcomers, stalking past them and into the cell block where Beth is cradling Little Ass Kicker. She smiles at me, nodding at an empty chair. I sink into it, head in my hands, as Rick and Hershel enter, Carl right behind them.

"She kinda has Lori's eyes, don't you think?" Beth questions, handing the infant over to Rick.

She does. Her eyes are starting to stay open more, that milky, newborn blue turning brown as the days pass us by. The moment she leaves Beth's arms, she starts to cry, and Rick hands her back to Beth after a few moments trying in vain to soothe her. Fussy thing. Rick, not the baby.

"Will you hold her while I get her bottle?" Beth questions, eyeing me.

I nod and take the crying baby, pressing her to my chest.

"Shh… hey, baby," I coo, Little Ass Kicker melting into my touch, cries slowing to a whimper. "Yeah, it's okay. Shh… you hungry? Yeah? I know…"

This baby is the softest thing I've ever touched. She feels too fragile, too precious for this world. But she's here. I don't believe in miracles, I really don't, but if I did, this baby would sure as hell qualify. I press my cheek to hers, inhaling her scent. Even now, surrounded by the stench of death and decay -and nearly a dozen unshowered, filthy, sweaty bodies- she still smells sweet, that inherent scent all babies have. It's soothing.

"You're very good with her," Hershel praises with a smile, taking a seat beside me, Beth perching on my other side. "Let's take a look at that wound."

Begrudgingly, I pass Little Ass Kicker to Beth for her feeding and unbutton Daryl's vest, rolling my top up to expose my reopened wound, the old stitching still hanging loose in my skin.

"Rick told me about the Governor," Hershel says gravely as he begins cleaning me up. "Who he is."

"Yeah," I mutter, wincing as he pulls the old stitches from my skin with a pair of tweezers. "He's a peach."

"I can stitch this back up, and the good news is none of your other wounds need stitchin', but I'm afraid there's not much I can do for your neck," he says regrettably, dabbing alcohol on and around my wound, smiling apologetically at the sharp inhale the sting yields from my lungs. "Do you wanna tell me what happened?"

"I don't wanna talk about it," I whisper, fat tears rolling down my cheeks.

Hershel accepts this, quietly taking care of me. He doesn't press the matter and I'm grateful for that.

"Do you think Rick's gonna make me leave?" I blurt, speaking my fears aloud for the first time.

"You are  _ not _ your father, Adrienne," Hershel says firmly, putting new stitches in. "Rick knows that. You can't choose who you're born to."

"I'm scared," I breathe. "He's a bad man. Always was, even before. When he comes here…"

My voice breaks as Hershel ties the last stitch.

"We'll find our way," he says reassuringly. "And with you on our side, we have an advantage. You know what we're dealing with better than anybody."

I nod. I hope he's right. He's finished patching me up and I'm exhausted. I head to my cell and as soon as I'm inside and, with as much privacy as one can hope for in a prison, I carefully remove Daryl's vest from my body, swapping it for a t-shirt that had belonged to T. I eye the vest, trace the angel wings with a finger tip. I always thought the wings were fitting. It's cheesy, I know, but guardian angel is an appropriate title for Daryl. Protective, sometimes even gentle. The man with the wings on his back...

Rage consumes me and I fling the vest violently to the floor, choking on sobs as I collapse to my bunk and cry. I cry until I can't anymore. Daryl left us, left  _ me. _ Those last words he uttered to me echo cruelly around my skull.

_ I ain't tryin' to be nothin' to nobody _ .

Yeah, well, congratulations, Daryl. You became something to all of us and you didn't even have to try. I scoff bitterly to myself and get to my feet. There's shit to do. I don't get to just lay down and cry. I head up the stairs, to the perch, Daryl had called it, where Carol is washing laundry in an old postal box. The show must go on, right? She says nothing, just hands me the t-shirt she'd just finished ringing out.

I move across the landing and drape the wet garment over the railing to dry. We continue like that in silence, her doing the washing and me doing the hanging, each lost in our own heads, until Beth comes padding up the stairs, bouncing a nearly sleeping Ass Kicker in her arms.

"You've got a knack for that," Carol observes.

"Just tryin' to do my part," Beth says softly.

"Sophia used to wake the neighbors," Carol tells her. "Three a.m., like clockwork. Ed stayed at a friend's most nights til she calmed down."

"I didn't think Ed was the type to have any friends," I mutter bitterly, draping a pair of jeans over the railing, Carol offering a wry smile.

"I always wanted a child," Beth says wistfully, staring longingly at Ass Kicker's little face and chuckling. "She wouldn't've made it if Daryl hadn't been here."

I stiffen, looking up to meet Beth's big, blue eyes staring right back at me. She clears her throat, her gaze flickering to Carol before settling back down on the baby in her arms.

"He couldn't stand to lose anyone else," She continues quietly.

"Sounds like him," Carol murmurs, continuing her scrubbing.

"I don't see why he had to leave," Beth blurts angrily. "Merle sounds like a jerk."

"Merle  _ is  _ a jerk," I huff, shaking out a bedsheet with a bit more force than necessary and hanging it over the rail. "But he's his brother, so it doesn't matter."

"Is that why you didn't go with him?"

What? I don't know how to answer that question, and Beth looks mortified, like she hadn't meant for those words to slip from her mouth. I didn't go with him because… because he didn't want me to.  _ I ain't tryin' to be nothin' to nobody. _ I don't know that I'd have gone with him even if he did. We started something at Woodbury. There's a goddamn  _ army  _ headed our way, I couldn't just leave. I wouldn't.

"Sorry," Beth mumbles, flushing. "I just thought…"

"Men like Merle get into your head," Carol mutters. "Make you feel like you deserve the abuse."

"Even for Daryl?" Beth questions, eyebrows jumping in surprise.

Of course for Daryl. His picture belongs next to loyalty in the dictionary. He thinks he's doing right by his brother, thinks he owes him.

"I'm hardly the woman I was a year ago," Carol sighs heavily. "But if Ed walked through that door right now, breathing, and told me to go with him, I'd like to  _ think _ I'd tell him to go to hell."

"You would," Beth says adamantly.

"If Ed walked through that door, breathin', and had the sack to tell you  _ shit, _ I'd send 'im to hell myself." I mutter darkly.

"It doesn't matter," Carol says, walking briskly over to the rail and hanging another sheet.

"We're weak without him," Beth announces.

"No," I counter. "No, we're stronger  _ with  _ him… but we're not weak, Beth."

"We'll get through this, too," Carol assures her. "Tyreese and his friends seem capable."

"I'm pissed at him for leavin'," Beth says sadly.

"Don't be," Carol says, dunking a shirt into the makeshift washing machine and scrubbing. "Daryl has his code. This world needs men like that."

I've had about all of this I can take. I don't want to talk about Daryl. I don't want to listen to anyone else talk about Daryl. He has his  _ code. _

"His code's bullshit," I snap, both Carol and Beth looking up in surprise at the sudden hostility in my voice.

I'm crying again and I'm so goddamned angry about that, I want to rip my eyes from their sockets. I know I'm being cranky, I know it's probably fueled by lack of sleep… but I can't  _ not  _ be pissed at him, and I won't tell Beth not to be, either. I'm furious. Sad, too, but mostly I… I think I hate him right now. I retreat to my cell and plunk down onto my bed. I know I don't hate him. I just wish I did. It would make it easier to accept him leaving, abandoning us like it's nothing.


	37. That's Why You Left First

**Chapter 37**

I must have passed out for a few hours, because the next thing I'm aware of are voices outside my cell. I pull myself together and join the group, Carol catching my eyes and smiling sadly. I can't return it. There's nothing to smile about.

"Whenever Tomas went off…" Axel trails off tearfully. "Oscar always stood up for me, you know? He was my friend."

"He went out fighting," Rick says quietly.

I guess that's the best any of us can really hope for now. That we go out with our fists clenched, head held high, blood in our teeth. Oscar died a hero.

"So, what now?" Beth asks. "You think the Governor will retaliate?"

"Yes," I reply solemnly. "He will."

"Let him try," Glenn mutters, glaring at me.

"Sounds like he's got a whole town," Carol says fearfully. "We're outnumbered and outgunned."

"We could use some reinforcements," Hershel points out.

Rick nods and leads us into the holding area, where the newcomers are awaiting his decision. Whether they can stay or not, or will we be killing them? Decisions, decisions. They're probably terrified. On one hand, we could use the extra hands around here. On the other, we don't know these people.

"I'm Tyreese," the leader introduces himself once more, this time offering his hand to Rick, who ignores it.

"Sasha, Allen, Ben," Hershel introduces the rest of the group, pointing to each in turn with the end of one of his crutches.

"How'd you get in?" Rick questions.

"Fire damage to the administrative part of the prison," Tyreese explains. "Wall's down."

"That side's completely overrun with walkers," Rick says, disbelief coloring his voice. "How'd you get this far?"

"We didn't," Tyreese says bluntly. "We lost our friend Donna."

"They were lost in the gyms," Carl pipes up.

"And you brought 'em here?" Rick demands, whirling on his son.

"He had no choice," Hershel counters.

"Well, I'm sorry about your friend," Rick says sincerely. "We know what that's like."

We do. A dozen times over.

"Hershel said you could use some extra hands," Tyreese says. "And we're no stranger to hard work. We'll go out, get our own food, stay outta your hair. You got a problem with another group, we'll help with that, too. Anything to contribute."

Rick glances at me, raising an eyebrow quizzically. I guess in Daryl's absence, I've become Rick's de facto right hand man. What an honor. I shrug, dipping my head once in a why not gesture. Sounds like a lot of pretty words, but this man doesn't strike me as a liar and we're not in any position not to accept help.

"No," Rick decides. 

Well, fuck my opinion, then.

"Please," Sasha says emphatically. "It's like '10 Little Indians' out there. It's just us now."

"No," Rick repeats with finality.

"Let's talk about this," Hershel suggests.

"We need the hel-"

"We've been through this," Rick cuts me off. "With Tomas, Andrew. Look what happened."

"Axel and Oscar weren't like them," Carol points out.

"And where's Oscar now?" Rick snaps. "I can't be responsible."

"You turn us out, you  _ are _ responsible," Tyreese counters.

"Rick," Hershel says, beckoning him to his side. "You've done so much for us. I appreciate that, we all do. We owe you our lives. We've done everything you asked without question. And I'm telling you. You're wrong on this. You've got to start giving people a chance."

There's a long silence as Rick considers this, sighing heavily. Then he spots something on the upper level, his face going slack for a moment. I look and see nothing. Nothing's there.

"No, no…" he breathes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "No, no, no, no…"

Oh, fuck. He's cracking. The pressure, the weight of everything he's lost, all the shit he's held himself accountable for. It's too much.

"Why are you here?" He demands suddenly, striding towards nothing. "What, what do you want from me? Why are you… no," his eyes are glued to the same empty spot upstairs. "I can't help you, get out!" He cries. "Get, get out!"

"Woah, woah, it's all good," Tyreese murmurs nervously.

"What are you doing?" Sasha demands.

"Rick," I step towards him, careful not to get too close. "Rick, hey, look at me."

"You don't belong here!" Rick roars hysterically, beginning to sob. "Get out, please!"

"Relax, relax brother," Tyreese soothes, backing up. "We'll leave. We're going. Okay? Ain't nobody gotta get shot here, we're going."

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!" Rick howls.

Tyreese and his group bolt, Glenn seeing them out, as Rick loses his shit. It's not a panic attack. No, this is something else entirely. And we're not remotely prepared to help him handle it.

*Daryl's POV*

We've been out here all morning. Hours. And nothing. It's been a day and a half and we ain't got shit to show. Merle's taking a piss and I find myself growing more and more annoyed with this shit.

"There ain't nothin' out here but mosquitoes 'n ants," I point out.

"Patience, little brother," he says, unworried. "Sooner or later, a squirrel's bound to scurry across your path."

"Even so, that ain't much food."

"More 'n nothin'."

"I'd have better luck goin' through one of them houses we passed back on the turnoff."

"Is that what your, uh, new friends taught you?" He questions, zipping his fly and crossing towards me. "Hmm? How to loot for booty?"

"Man, we've been at it for hours," I sigh. "Why don't we find a stream, try to look for some fish?"

"I think you're just tryna lead me back to the road, man," he counters. "Get me over to that prison."

"They got shelter," I point out. "Food."

"A pretty little redhead," he snarks. "Uh, you know I gotta ask, bro. Does the uh, the carpet. Does it match the drapes?"

"A pot to piss in, might not be a bad idea." I continue, ignoring him.

I don't want to think about her.  _ I ain't tryin' to be nothin' to nobody. _ That's what I told her. It ain't true, not really. I just… I can't be what she wants, I can't… I ain't good for her and I needed her to let me do this. I needed her to hate me so she wouldn't convince me to stay.

"For you, maybe," he agrees. "Ain't gon' be no damn party for me."

"Everyone'll get used to each other," I say, deluding myself and not fooling Merle in the slightest.

"They're all dead. Makes no difference."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Right about now he's probably hostin' a housewarmin' party where he's gon' bury what's left of your pals," he informs me nonchalantly. "Maybe not your girlfriend, though."

"She ain't my girlfriend," I snap, annoyed he won't drop it.

She ain't. She kissed me. Three times now, she's kissed me and, even though her lips on mine is the closest fucking thing to heaven my sorry ass is ever gonna know, it means nothing. She don't know what she's asking for, she don't want me. She can't.

"Shame," Merle chuckles. "They say the ones with daddy issues got the best pussy for a reason, little brother, and a ginger, too, mmm, mmm... yeah, I'll bet she's great in the sack."

"Shut up."

"You know, what? Maybe we should go see if she's still around, huh?"

He cackles, delighted with my discomfort. Why am I here? Merle spits on the ground, not a care in the goddamn world.

"Let's hook some fish. C'mon."

So, even though it's disgusting, I spit, too, and follow him. Like I always have. Always will. He's my brother. He's blood. 

*Adrienne's POV*

I'm watching Glenn draw a chalk diagram of the prison on the floor and thinking about the last time I'd seen him do this. Atlanta. When we'd gone back for Merle, the weapons. It feels like centuries have passed since then.

"Right. Now you said you found Tyreese's group here?" He asks Carl, pointing to a spot on the map.

"Yeah," the boy confirms.

"We secured this," Glenn says, face troubled.

"He thought he came through here," Carl explains, pointing. 

"Means there's another breach," Glenn says with a heavy sigh. "Okay. The whole front of the prison is unsecure. If walkers just strolled in then it's gonna be cake for a group of armed men."

"Why are we even so sure he's gonna attack?" Beth questions. "Maybe you scared him off."

"He had fish tanks full of heads." Michonne, formerly known as katana woman, states. "Walkers and humans. Trophies."

"He'll be here," I nod. "He needs control. We got away, killed several of his men, caused a whole hell of a lotta damage to his town... he's not gonna let that slide. He's comin'."

"We should hit him now," Glenn suggests. 

"What?" Beth asks incredulously.

"He won't be expecting it," Glenn explains. "We'll sneak back in and put a bullet in his head."

"We're not assassins," Carol points out dryly.

"You know where his apartment is," Glenn appeals to Michonne, rising. "You and I could end this tonight."

Michonne sighs heavily, indecision written all over her face.

"I'll do it myself," Glenn proclaims, at which Michonne nods, relenting. "Okay."

"He didn't know you were coming last time," Hershel points out. "And look what happened. You were almost killed. Adie was tortured. Daryl was captured. And you and Maggie were almost executed."

"You can't stop me," Glenn breathes.

"Rick would never allow this," Hershel says calmly.

"You really think he's in any position to make that choice?" Glenn demands.

"Think this through clearly," Hershel pleads. "T-Dog lost his life here. Lori, too. The men that were here. It isn't worth any more killin'. What're we waiting for? If he's really on his way, we should be out of here by now."

"And go where?" Glenn demands.

"We lived on the road all winter."

"Back when you had two legs and we didn't have a baby crying for walkers every four hours."

Jesus. He's right. On the road, all we do is run. Hershel won't survive, and the baby… she'll draw death right to us. We can't give this place up.

"We can't stay here," Hershel insists.

"We _ can't run. _ " Glenn snarls.

Maggie wheels around abruptly, leaving the room. No one speaks for several moments.

"Glenn, there has to be-"

"I'm not having another argument about blood and family ties, Adrienne!" Glenn snaps. "I don't care if he's your dad, he doesn't get to live."

He doesn't trust me. This man, whom I've come to know as a brother, who's ass I've covered more than a few times. I trust him with my life.  _ The dream team _ , Merle called us, and it's true. He and I made plenty of runs to Atlanta and back to the quarry, just the two of us. The first time I ever killed a living, breathing person, it was to keep Glenn alive. He's  _ family. _ I can't believe he'd say something so cruel. He thinks I want the Governor alive any more than he does?

"Go to hell, Glenn," I hiss, fleeing the room before anyone can see my hurt.

I slump down against the wall in my cell, tears welling and falling. All I do anymore is cry. I spot Daryl's vest, still lying on the floor where I'd flung it nearly two days ago, just inches from my body. I reach down and pull it towards me, holding the only piece of him I still have to my chest and sobbing relentlessly.

"Adie?" Carol stands at my door, tears in her eyes, looking down at me on the ground. "Can I come in?"

I nod and she enters, perching herself on the edge of my bunk as I angrily wipe my tears away.

"What happened?" She blurts. "Back at Woodbury? Glenn's not himself, Maggie hardly speaks, and you…" She trails off, at a loss.

"Glenn thinks he's not gettin' the full story about what happened with me and Maggie and my… and the Governor," I mutter. "That's all."

She eyes me, waiting.

"I should've stopped him," I whisper, voice frayed. "He made us take off our shirts and he, he touched her, he… then he took her away."

"Adie," she breathes, her horrified eyes meeting mine. "Did he…"

She trails off and I know what she's asking. Rape. No one wants to utter the word out loud, but that's the question rolling around in their heads. Sometimes seems like people are more afraid of the word than the act.

"No," I promise her. "He took her to the other room, with Glenn. He came back for me and I, I, I couldn't fight him, I just… froze. I let him. I let him do it. I could've stopped him, I could've… and  _ Maggie, _ " I sob, guilt gnawing at my insides. "I didn't protect her."

Tears are spilling from my eyes almost as quickly as the words tumbling from my lips.

"Don't," Carol hisses, almost angrily. "Don't do this. You couldn't have stopped it."

I want to believe her. But she wasn't there, she doesn't  _ know. _

"I keep wishin' he'd killed me," I confess, touching my neck.

It was like a game. He'd press his thumbs to my throat until I felt like my lungs were gonna burst, like all the air in my body was used up, until… I thought I was dead, and then the pressure was gone, oxygen flooding my system, and the panic would tear through me again. Then he'd do it again. Over and over.

"Oh, honey, don't. Don't you ever say that," she murmurs, crossing the cell, sinking to the floor beside me and smoothing my hair back. "We need you here. All of us do."

"No. No, we need Daryl. He's..." I trail off dissolving into another bout of tears. "It feels like he  _ died. _ I can't stop thinkin'... and he might as well be dead, he's not comin' back, he's  _ not comin' back _ and I'm never gonna see him again."

I choke pathetically on the last word, tearing my fingers through my hair and glaring at the ceiling.

"You love him," she says softly, tears slipping silently down her cheeks, and I nod, unable to deny it. "I do, too. But he made a choice and we have to accept it. Find a way to move on whether we want to or not. If we're all dead already, you might as well make it count."

Damn. Old Carol was never this blunt. It's exactly what I need to hear, though, and I'm able to pull myself together enough to leave my cell with her beside me. I take a seat at the table beside Hershel just as Glenn and Carl burst into the room, apparently having gone to check other areas of the prison for walkers.

"Tombs outside the boiler room are overrun again," Glenn announces.

"That whole section had been cleared," Beth says indignantly.

"It's a steady stream of walkers," Carl pants.

"We're wastin' time," Hershel declares. "The Governor's supposedly on his way and we're stuck in here with walkers."

"Trapped between a rock and a hard place," Carol sighs.

"For the last time, running is not an option," Glenn insists.

"Glenn, if the tombs have filled up again, it may just be a matter of time before they  _ push _ in here," Carol snaps.

"Or until some fence gives way," Beth adds.

"What if one of them herds is passin' through?" Axel questions. "Or settled?"

"Can't handle that with just the few of us," Carol points out.

"Okay," Glenn sighs. "All right, we need, we just need to scout the far side of the prison. Find out what's going on."

"You're goin' out there?" Hershel questions dubiously.

"Take a car and make it quick," Glenn confirms.

"I'll drive," Axel volunteers.

"No," Glenn argues. "You stay here. Help with the... fortifications. I'll take Maggie."

"You sure she's up for that?" Hershel asks.

"You've been a bit of a dick," I blurt before I can stop myself, inciting a giggle from Carl and a glare from Glenn. "I just meant… maybe ask her." I finish, mumbling.

He stalks off to talk to Maggie without another word.

"Was callin' him names necessary, Adie?" Hershel questions, eyes twinkling.

Yes.

Yes, it was.

*Daryl's POV*

"Smells to me like the Sawhatchee Creek," Merle announces.

Bullshit.

"Nah, we didn't go west enough," I argue. "There's a river down there, it's gotta be the Yellow Jacket."

"You have a stroke, boy?" He counters. "We ain't never even come close to Yellow Jacket."

"No, we didn't go west," I protest. "Just a little bit south. That's what I think."

"Know what I think?" He scoffs. "I may've lost my hand, but you lost your sense of direction."

"Yeah, we'll see."

I haven't. It's the fucking Yellow Jacket. I know it.

"What do you wanna bet?" He challenges, as if we got shit to bet anyhow.

"I don't wanna bet nothin'," I snap. "It's just a body of water. Why's everything gotta be a competition with you?"

"Woah, woah, take it easy, little brother. Just tryin' to have a little fun here," he retorts. "No need to get your panties all in a bundle."

"You hear that?" I question, someone screaming or crying in the distance. A baby?

"Yeah," Merle confirms. "Wild animals gettin' wild."

"No, it's a baby."

"Oh, come on, why don't you just piss in my ear 'n tell me it's rainin', too?" He demands. "That there's the sound of a couple coons makin' love, sweet love. Know what I mean?"

He chuckles, thrusting into the air. Jesus. I ain't got time for this shit. I tear off towards the sound, getting closer and closer to the river. There are several people on a bridge over the water, walkers converging upon them as they try fruitlessly to fight them off. They ain't doing so hot.

"Hey! Jump!" Merle shouts, laughing like a juvenile prick while I sprint towards the bridge to help. "What? Hey, man, I ain't wastin' my bullets on a couple strangers that ain't never cooked me a meal or… or fallaciated my piece! That's my policy. You'd be wise to adopt it, brother!"

He can talk all he wants, he's following me so I really don't give a shit. Fallaciated his piece. Jesus. I make my way up to the bridge and shoot an arrow through a walker just about to chow down on some poor bastard's leg. These people don't speak a word of English. That complicates things a bit.

"C'mon man, I'm tryin' to help you out!" I holler. "Cover me!"

I guess some languages are universal given the right circumstances, because one of the men hops down from the flatbed trailer he and his son were stranded on and grabs his pistol, gunning down a walker. The source of the crying is an infant, it's mother cradling it close as walkers attempt to reach them inside their car. I take out the two still outside the vehicle, rounding the car and yanking another out, slamming the trunk down on its head.

"Daryl!" Merle cries, finally making himself half-assed useful, firing a bullet into the walker nearest me. "I gotcha! Go!"

"Speak English!" I bark at the man desperately trying to communicate with me, but he doesn't. He can't.

Finally the last walker falls, and Merle sees fit to loot the people we'd just helped. Has he always been such a dick, or have I just changed enough to realize it?

"Slow down, beaner," Merle points his gun at the man when he protests. "That ain't no way to say thank you."

"Let 'em go," I mutter.

"Nah. The least they can do is give us an enchilada or somethin', huh?" Merle argues, ducking into their back seat and rifling through their things. "Easy does it,  _ señorita. _ Everything's gon' be fine."

I've had enough of his shit. These people are just trying to get by. No different than us. I round the back of the car, prodding my brother's back with the end of my crossbow.

"Get outta the car," I command.

"I know you're not talkin' to me, brother," Merle warns, ignoring me.

"Get in your car and get the hell outta here!" I snarl, the man just standing there helpless while my brother plunders his vehicle. "Go! Get in your car!"

They seem to understand, hauling ass away as Merle stares at me in stunned disbelief, my crossbow still firmly trained on his head. My own brother. I ain't never stood up to him like this and he don't know how to handle it. Hell, I don't know how to handle it. He pushes my crossbow away from him once the car has peeled away. Seething, I stalk my way back into the woods, right past the rusted metal sign at the end of the bridge, marking the river. It's the fucking Yellow Jacket Creek.

"The fuck you doin', pointin' that thing at me?" Merle demands.

"They were scared, man." I point out.

"They were  _ rude, _ is what they were," He retorts. "Rude and they owed us a token of gratitude."

"They didn't owe us nothin'."

"You helpin' people outta the goodness of your heart? Even though you might die doin' it? Is that somethin' your Sheriff Rick taught you?"

This man… my brother,  _ my blood, _ he just sat there, watching the show while other people fought to stay alive. Probably sat in the next room, listening while the Governor hurt Adrienne, cut her open. He beat the shit outta Glenn. And I just left with him, turned my back on the only people to ever really give a shit about me.

"There was a baby!" I explode, wheeling on him.

"Oh, otherwise you would've just left 'em to the biters, then?" He questions pointedly.

"Man, I went back for you," I hiss. "You weren't there. I didn't cut off your hand, neither! You did that. Way before they locked you up on that roof! No, you asked for it."

"You know," he says, chuckling humorlessly. "You know what's funny to me? Hmm? You and Sheriff Rick are like this now, right?" He questions, crossing his middle and index fingers. "Hmm. I bet you a penny 'n a fiddle of gold, huh? That you never told him that we were plannin' on robbin' that camp blind."

"It didn't happen," I protest defensively.

"Yeah!" He agrees. "It didn't. 'Cause I wasn't there to help you."

"What, like when we were kids, huh?" I spit. "Who left who then?"

"What?" Merle roars. "Huh? Is that why I lost my hand?"

"You lost your hand 'cause you're a simpleminded piece of shit!" I snarl, something breaking loose inside me, decades of anger flooding white hot through my veins.

"Yeah? You don't know!" He cries, grabbing me by the shirt as I walk away.

The shirt tears, and I drop to my knees, my back to the wind, exposing the scars from wounds inflicted by our piece of shit old man. He's got a matching set. There's a heavy silence.

"I, I didn't know he was-"

"Yeah, you did," I cut him off, ashamed at the tears threatening to fall from my eyes as I sling my pack over my shoulders. "He did the same to you. That's why you left first."

"I had to, man," he says, but he didn't. "I woulda killed 'im otherwise. Where you goin'?"

"Back where I belong!"

Home. I'm going home. I just hope there's something left when I get there.

"I can't go with you," he protests. "I, I tried to kill that black bitch. Damn near killed the Chinese kid."

"He's Korean!"

"Whatever!" He shrugs. "Doesn't matter, man, I just can't go with you."

"You know, I may be the one walkin' away," I tell him, spent. "But you're the one that's leavin'. Again."

It's my choice this time. Blood… blood don't mean nothin'. I know where my family is.

They need me.

*Adrienne's POV*

I guess Glenn's chat with Maggie didn't go so hot. He stalks outside alone, scowling. Hershel follows him. I understand where Glenn's anger is coming from, I do, but he's being an asshole right now. He's so focused on his rage, his fucking vendetta, that he's forgetting Maggie has feelings, too. Maybe Hershel can get through to him.

I find myself in my cell, picking Daryl's vest up from off of the floor. It smells like him. Smoke and sweat and pine and motor oil. Blood. And it's stupid, but it makes me feel less alone. I pull off my t-shirt, rooting through my pack for the shirt Daryl had given me that day on the highway, the day we lost Sophia. It's one of the only things I'd managed to hold onto through the winter on the road. I put on Daryl's clothes and, in a weird way, it's comforting. Like he's still around. If Rick wasn't currently taking a long dip in the deep end, I might feel crazy. In comparison, I'm doing just fine.

I head outside where Beth, Carl, Axel and Carol are keeping an eye on Rick while he wanders aimlessly about the perimeter of the prison, muttering to himself. Noting my outfit, Carol smiles and gives my arm a squeeze.

"Stress gettin' your man Rick?" Axel questions, amused.

"Can you blame 'im?" Carol counters.

"Nah, not at all," Axel replies, humor gone from his voice, replaced with genuine concern. "In here I seen plenty of dudes crack. But not me. I got on better on the inside. Things made more sense, you know? There were rules. Life was more simple."

"Didn't you miss your brother?" Carol asks.

"My brother?" Axel chuckles. "Hell, no. He had a real money problem."

"What kinda problem?" Carol inquires, and the tone in her voice... I'm beginning to think these two might have a thing for each other.

"He didn't lend me any," Axel quips, and they both share a laugh. "One time that son of a bitch-"

Before he can finish his story, his head explodes, a bullet flying through his brain.

"Get down!" I screech at Carl, but he shields Beth instead. "Get inside!"

There's a car pulled up to our gates. I don't recognize it, but I know. We're under attack, a hail of gunfire upon us. Jesus Christ, someone's in one of our guard towers. I pull my gun from my waistband and take cover.

"Beth!" Maggie cries, tearing outside with three rifles.

"Take cover!" I order, the sisters doing so as the man in the guard tower unloads on us.

I tuck my Glock into my waistband, exchanging it for the rifle Maggie's just tossed my way.

"Carol, go!" Maggie shouts, and Carol runs to Beth, snatching one of the other rifles from Maggie's hands.

Then an engine roars in the distance, an old mail truck with a metal ramp attached to the back crashing through our outer gates and into the yard. The shootout was a setup. A ploy to get us to waste our limited ammo, to draw the dead from miles around to this spot. The engine cuts and walkers burst forth from the back of the vehicle. Walkers as weapons. Jesus Christ.

I shoot my shot, taking out the imposter in the guard tower. Then I see him. The Governor, firing several more times as he ducks into his car with a couple other men. I fire, his windshield exploding into a million tiny pieces, glass shrapnel glittering in the late afternoon sun. I shoot again. And again. But they're gone. Then I spot Hershel on the ground near the edge of the yard. He's not dead, and it doesn't look like he's been bitten, but he can't get up on his own. Michonne is flying towards him, Glenn speeding their way in the truck. But they're surrounded by walkers, they'll never get through.

"Shit," I hiss, snatching my knife from my belt and tearing into the yard just as Glenn brings the truck to a stop.

I hurl myself at the walkers, plunging my knife into skull after skull, clearing a path for Glenn and hoping like hell no one shoots me. I'm surrounded, four walkers converging upon me. Time to make it count. I thrust my blade into the nearest walker, using its body to knock another over and whirling to plunge my knife into yet another. I hazard a glance in Hershel's direction. Glenn and Michonne have helped him into the truck, and I breathe a little easier knowing he's safe.

"Adie, look out!" Carl screams.

I'm knocked to the ground, knife flying from my hand. The snarling corpse has pinned me, its rotted, gnashing teeth inching closer and closer to my neck. This is it. This is karma. I didn't protect Maggie, I didn't keep her safe, and this is the price I'm gonna pay. I close my eyes, waiting for teeth to tear into my flesh. Then, suddenly, the writhing corpse goes still, quiet. My eyes fly open and take in the arrow, pierced through the walker's eye socket. Daryl's. Before I can fully process that Daryl's arrow means he's back, I leap to my feet. I snatch my knife from the ground, then retrieve the arrow from the fallen walker at my feet.

"Adie, let's go! Move!" Glenn hollers from the gate.

So I run, hurling myself into walkers, thrusting my blade into the skulls of those that get too close, my legs propelling me across the yard in record time. I fling myself through the gate like a baseball player sliding into home, skidding to a stop near Carol's feet.

"Y'all have to refer to me as A-Rod for the rest of our miserable goddamn lives," I croak breathlessly.


	38. Bent on Destruction

**Chapter 38**

"We're not leavin'," Rick says stubbornly the next morning, his trip to Insanity Island officially over.

"We can't stay here," Hershel argues.

"What if there's another sniper?" Maggie demands. "A wood pallet won't stop one of those rounds."

"We can't even go outside," Beth adds.

"Not in the daylight," Carol agrees.

"Look, Rick says we're not running, we're not running," Glenn pipes up.

"No," Merle cuts in sarcastically. "Better to live like rats."

Daryl came back. Merle's with him. Locked in a cell for the time being. I'm absolutely livid. And elated. Overjoyed. Thank god or whoever that he's back, but how fucking dare he? He left us. I'm not over it.

"Shut the fuck up, Merle," I hiss.

"Aw, just like old times, princess," he retorts with a chuckle.

"You got a better idea?" Rick demands.

"Yeah, we should've slid outta here last night and lived to fight another day," he announces. "But we lost that window, didn't we? I'm sure he's got scouts on every road out of this place by now."

"Yeah, we ain't scared of that prick," Daryl mutters.

"Y'all should be," Merle warns. "Ain't that right,  _ Adie Bee? _ "

"Call me that again," I snarl. "I'll come through that cell and relieve you of your other hand."

"That truck through the fence thing?" Merle continues, unmoved. "That's just him ringin' the doorbell. We might have some thick walls to hide behind, but he's got the  _ guns _ and the  _ numbers. _ And if he takes the high ground around this place, shit... he could just starve us out if he wanted to."

"Let's put him in the other cell block," Maggie suggests, wringing her hands nervously.

"No," Daryl rebukes. "He's got a point."

"This is all you, you started this!" Maggie shouts, addressing Merle with contempt.

"What's the difference whose fault it is?" Beth snaps. "What do we do?"

"I said we should leave," Hershel points out. "Now Axel's dead. We can't just sit here."

Rick, in typical fashion lately, turns and strides towards the door.

"Get back here!" Hershel roars, his voice echoing through the block as he makes his way over to Rick. "You're slipping, Rick. We've all seen it. We understand why. But now is not the time! You once said this isn't a democracy. Now you have to own up to that. I put my family's life in your hands! So get your head clear and do something."

That seems to sink in, but Rick still leaves the block to scout. Carl follows. The rest of us stay put, wondering what in the hell we're gonna do. I sink onto a chair at the table, sore and exhausted.

"Adie," Glenn says hesitantly.

"A-Rod," I remind him, not bothering to look his way.

"I'm not calling you that."

"What do you want, Glenn?" I question wearily, rubbing my temples.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay?" He rushes out, not sounding sorry in the slightest.

"You know what?" I snap, lifting my eyes to his. "Save it. I'm not gonna accept some  _ bullshit _ apology you're only makin' 'cause you're uncomfortable not talkin' to me. Or are you just out of other people to talk to? You made yourself real clear, Glenn. I'm the enemy, right?"

"If you'd just tell me what happened, I could-"

"You could what?" I demand hoarsely, springing to my feet and shoving him away from me. "Move on? Stop tryin' to prove somethin'? Huh? You're actin' like a prick 'cause you actually think I  _ owe  _ you an answer? I don't owe you  _ shit. _ You don't wanna know what happened, you just want me to tell you what you already _ think  _ happened so you can feel like you're justified. What, will you, will you trust me again if I tell you the Governor offered me  _ protection? _ A room with a view? If I tell you my daddy tortured me 'til I  _ begged _ him to end it, will that, will that make  _ you  _ feel better?  _ Hearin' _ it wasn't enough?"

He balks, face ashen. He and Maggie had been on the other side of that wall. They  _ heard. _ They heard that I didn't fight back, that I just took it, heard me coughing and wheezing, desperately gulping down air between sobs, between  _ please, just kill me _ and  _ not again. _ Maybe that's why Glenn won't let it go. Maybe he needs everyone else to know how weak I am. Fuck 'em.

"Anyone else have somethin' to say?" I snarl. "Anyone else questionin' where my  _ loyalties lie? _ "

No one speaks. Hell, no one even moves. I return to my seat, hurling myself onto the stool and glaring at the table. Anger is better than guilt. Easier.

"Adie, I-" Glenn tries, but doesn't get to finish, Rick returning from outside.

"Take watch," he orders, handing Maggie a rifle. "Eyes open, head down. Field's filled with walkers," he announces to the rest of us. "I didn't see any snipers out there, but we'll keep Maggie on watch."

"I could get up in the guard tower," Daryl volunteers. "Take out half them walkers, give these guys a chance to fix the fence."

"Or use some of the cars to put the bus in place," Michonne suggests.

"We can't access the field without burning though our bullets," Hershel points out.

"So we're trapped in here," Glenn says petulantly. "All right, there's barely any food or ammo."

"Yeah, and we've  _ never _ survived in those conditions before," I hiss.

"We'll be alright," Daryl adds.

"That's when it was just us!" Glenn retorts. "Before there was a snake in the nest."

"Man, we gonna go through this again?" Daryl demands. "Look, Merle's stayin' here. He's with us now. Get used to it. All y'all."

Daryl stalks off, climbing the stairs and disappearing from view.

"Seriously, Rick," Glenn insists. "I don't think Merle living here is really gonna fly."

"I can't kick him out," Rick says emphatically.

"I wouldn't ask you to live with  _ Shane _ after he tried to kill you!" Glenn snarls.

"Merle has military experience," Hershel points out. "He may be erratic, but don't underestimate his loyalty to his brother."

"What if we solve both problems at once?" Glenn demands. "Deliver Merle to the Governor. Bargaining chip. Give him his traitor, maybe declare a truce."

"He'll make the deal," I announce. "But he wants us gone. His people think he's the good guy. That we're  _ terrorists, _ hell-bent on takin' what they have. We killed several of theirs, injured a few, too. He's gonna wanna make an example out of us, show his people what happens to folks who mess with their town."

"Yeah?" Glenn snaps. "I don't care what he wants."

"You're not listenin'!" I snap. "You offer up Merle, we're down  _ two _ men. Daryl won't stay without 'im. Governor'll play nice, accept your offer, and all it'll do is buy us a couple days,  _ maybe,  _ before he kills us all anyway."

I stalk off into my cell, not sticking around to hear Glenn's rebuttal.

*Daryl's POV*

"Haven't had a chance to say, I'm glad you came back," Carol says, leaning against the door frame of the cell I was trying to hide in.

"To what?" I question derisively. "All this?"

Before she can respond, Adrienne's in the doorway. She ain't looking at me. Hasn't looked at me once since I got back. I don't deserve it, anyhow. She's changed into a shirt I recognize as T-Dog's. Wordlessly, she dumps my vest, shirt, and the arrow I'd shot into the walker trying to make a meal of her yesterday on the end of the bunk, gone just as fast as she'd appeared. Carol watches her leave, concerned, before stepping into the cell and perching on the small table inside.

"This is our home," she announces.

"This is a tomb," I counter.

"That's what T-Dog called it," she says sadly. "Thought he was right till you found me."

I don't have a response for that. I still think it's a tomb. I almost didn't find her.

"He's your brother, but he's not good for you," she murmurs. "Don't let him bring you down. After all, look how far you've come."

How far I've come? We're sitting in a prison cell, for Christ's sake. She seems to realize the irony, laughing at herself before turning serious again.

"You need to talk to her," she says, eyeing the vest.

"What, so she can rip my ass like she did Glenn's?" I question.

"She's hurt," she points out thoughtfully. "And Glenn deserved that. He's been throwing her  _ family tree _ at her since they got back."

"Kid's a punk," I grunt.

"He's angry," she corrects. "Don't change the subject. Talk to her. I know you care about her. About all of us. It's why you came back," She smiles like it's that simple. Maybe it is.

"Don't think she's in much of a talkin' mood," I mutter.

"Maybe not," she shrugs. "But she will be."

Yeah, maybe.

*Adrienne's POV*

"Maggie?" I whisper tentatively, joining her on the loading dock just outside our cellblock, where she's keeping watch hidden behind a wooden pallet.

Carl's out here, too, on another dock, scanning the yard with his binoculars.

"What is it?" Maggie murmurs, not taking her eye off the scope of her rifle.

"I… I know there's no way I can even begin to make things right, but-"

"What are you talkin' about?" She demands, eyeing me quizzically.

What the fuck does she mean, what am I talking about?

"I didn't stop him."

"Yes, you did."

"Not soon enough."

"Adie," she puts her hands on my shoulders, forcing me to look her in the eyes. "You listen to me. If you hadn't been there, if it was just me in that room, he… you stopped him. You did."

"But Glenn-"

"Glenn's bein' an ass," she interrupts. "I told you, you listen to  _ me. _ What... what happened to me, to  _ us, _ wasn't your fault. It wasn't. It isn't your job to protect all of us all the time, and you can't."

I stare at her, unblinking. She's not mad at me. She doesn't hate me, she… I drop my gaze to the ground, vision swimming as the tears fall from my eyes and splash onto the concrete. I was so sure… I was  _ so sure _ she blamed me.

"I'm sorry," I whimper, dragging my palms across my eyes. "I didn't know what to do, I didn't… I just…"

"Shh," she soothes, wrapping her free arm around me. "I know. I'm sorry, too. I couldn't protect you, either."

For the first time in days, I feel like I can breathe properly. The guilt was suffocating me, coating the insides of my lungs with something sticky and vile. The relief is overwhelming, but brief.

"Psst," Carl hisses. "Somethin' weird out there." 

Maggie peers through her scope.

"Andrea," she whispers, eyeing Carl over her shoulder. "Get your dad and the others."

I'll be damned. Andrea's marching up to our gates, using a walker on a lead to ghost her way through the crowd of eternally hungry corpses her boyfriend dropped on our doorstep. I hurtle into the courtyard, taking cover beside the truck just as Rick, Daryl, Merle, Michonne, and Beth come sprinting from the cellblock. Rick and Merle join me next to the truck, the others hanging back.

"Go," Rick orders, and Merle moves out of rank, taking cover behind the Hyundai.

"Clear," he announces.

The six of us surge forward, moving towards our remaining gate. You know, the one the Governor graciously left standing.

"Are you alone?" Rick demands.

"Open the gate!" Andrea cries.

"Are you alone?!" Rick repeats stubbornly.

"Rick!" She hollers, walkers closing in on her.

Rick tosses the keys to Daryl, who opens the gate, and Andrea scurries inside, releasing her pet walker to play in the yard with its buddies. Merle slams the gate shut the moment she's on our side of the fence, quickly replacing the chain and padlock.

"Hands up, turn around!" Rick orders, everyone with a weapon aiming it at her head. "Turn around now!"

Rick throws her against the fence, frisking her for any weapons she may be hiding, confiscating the sidearm we can see.

"Get down on the floor," he commands, forcing her to her knees, viciously yanking the bag from her shoulders. "I asked if you were alone!"

"I am!" She cries breathlessly, glaring at the injustice of her less than warm reception.

Rick is unmoved. He tosses her bag aside. He doesn't care what's in it, so long as she can't reach it.

"Welcome back," he says flatly, grabbing her by the arm. "Get up."

We duck inside quickly, leading Andrea into our humble cell block. I'm furious. Carol greets her with a hug, and that just pisses me off further. I take a seat at one of the tables, Daryl choosing to perch himself atop the same table. Inches away. I could touch him if I leaned over. That pisses me off the most.

"After you saved me, we thought you were dead," Carol murmurs.

"Hershel, my god," Andrea breathes, staring at his butchered limb. "I can't believe this. Where's Shane?"

Rick shakes his head, unable to answer. But I can.

"Dead."

"And Lori?" She questions, working her way down the list of people we've lost since she's been away.

"She had a girl," Hershel informs her. "Lori didn't survive."

"Neither did T-Dog," Maggie adds.

"I'm so sorry," Andrea blubbers. I still hate her. "Carl… Rick, I… you all live here?"

"No, Andrea, we're here for the tour," I snap, unable to help it.

That was a fucking stupid question with an obvious answer.

"Here and the cell block," Glenn rushes quickly, before Andrea can retaliate.

"There?" She asks yet another brilliant question, pointing to what clearly is the cell block. "Well, can I go in?"

"I won't allow that."

"You're fuckin'  _ joking." _

Rick and I speak at the same time, his response far more civil than mine.

"I'm not an enemy, Rick," she protests, ignoring me entirely.

"That's right, you're just sleepin' with him," I hiss.

"Adrienne!" Rick's voice rings out like a shot, and I back down. "We had that field and courtyard, until your boyfriend tore down the fence with a truck and shot us up."

"He said you fired first," Andrea argues.

"Yeah, well he's a liar," I spit, no one intervening this time.

"He killed an inmate who survived in here," Hershel tells her.

"We liked him," Daryl adds. "He was one of us."

"I didn't know anything about that," Andrea claims, as though ignorance absolves her of any wrong. "As soon as I found out, I came. I didn't even know you were in Woodbury until  _ after _ the shoot-out."

"That was  _ days _ ago," Glenn points out.

"I told you, I came as soon as I could."

No one's buying it, and she whirls on Michonne.

"What have you told them?"

"Nothing," Michonne replies cooly.

"What's there to tell?" I demand. "What does she know you're so afraid she's told us?"

"I don't get it," she says indignantly. "I left Atlanta with you people and now I'm the odd man out?"

"He almost killed Michonne and he would've killed us," Glenn counters harshly.

"With his finger on the trigger!" Andrea proclaims, pointing at Merle. "Isn't he the one who kidnapped you? Who  _ beat _ you?"

"Not all of us," I snap, and she whirls on me.

I lift my hair from my neck, better exposing the deep purple, finger shaped bruises on my skin, the thin, crimson line across my throat.

"This is courtesy of your  _ Governor. _ "

"Look," she sighs. "I cannot excuse or explain what Philip has done. But I am here trying to bring us together. We have to work this out."

"There's nothin' to work out," Rick says, approaching her. "We're gonna kill him. I don't know how or when, but we will."

"We can  _ settle _ this," she insists. "There is room at Woodbury for, for all of you."

"You know better 'n that," Merle says with a chuckle.

"What makes you think this man wants to negotiate?" Hershel questions, eyeing me with concern. "Did he say that?"

"He doesn't negotiate," I mutter.

"You don't know him," Andrea hisses.

I'm done. The rage that took root in the pit of my stomach the moment I saw the woman casually strolling through our yard boils over. I know that man like the back of my hand. I know he went to church every Sunday and never confessed his sins. I know he learned to play golf when he was invited to rub elbows on the putting green with people with last names like Clinton and Bush just so he could outscore them. I know he hates cats and Buicks and celery, even  _ with _ peanut butter on it. I know he loves black licorice and expensive whiskey and Marvin Gaye and little girls in spring dresses.

I know what his shadow looks like in the dark, I know what it sounds like when the bed springs creak under his weight,  _ I know him. _

" _ You _ don't know him!" I explode. "Not like I do!  _ Philip Blake _ is my father. He's… he... none of you, not a single damn one of you, know what kind of man you're dealin' with. He  _ will not _ negotiate!"

"If you would just listen-" Andrea tries to cut in. 

"No, Andrea, you-" I start.

"Why did you come here?" Rick demands, interrupting the feud.

"Because he's gearing up for war," Andrea huffs. "The people are terrified. They see you as killers. They're training to attack."

I shoot an  _ 'I told you so' _ look at Glenn.

"I'll tell you what," Daryl says matter of factly, glancing at me before turning back to Andrea. "Next time you see  _ Philip, _ you tell 'im I'm gon' take his other eye."

"We've taken too much shit for too long," Glenn adds. "He wants a war? He's got one."

"Rick. If you don't sit down and try to work this out, I don't know what's gonna happen," Andrea warns. "He has a whole town. Look at you. You've lost so much already. Adrienne, are you really willing to kill your own Dad? Are you that cold?"

" _My own Dad_ _likes little girls._ " I spit venomously, springing from my seat. "Did you know that, _Governess?_ "

She balks, the entire room falling silent as death itself, Daryl stiffening in my periphery.

"Oh, yeah," I continue quietly, trembling against my barely contained rage. "Loves 'em. He may be sleepin' with you, but that's just par for the course. He's usin' you,  _ controlling  _ you. He's my blood, but he is  _ not _ my family. I'll drive a knife through his skull myself."

With that, I leave the room. I can't look at this bitch anymore. I certainly can't look at anyone else. Now they know. Glenn's got all his answers and they'll all start looking at me with pity. Poor Adrienne. A victim. Her own Daddy, can you imagine? I head to my cell and collapse onto my bunk, staring at the wall, seething. Hating Andrea. Hating my father.

Hating me.

*Daryl's POV*

"You can't stand alone anymore," Andrea insists, breaking the long silence Adie left in her wake.

_ My own Dad likes little girls. _ Jesus Christ. What did he do to her? I'll kill him.

"You wanna make this right?" Rick demands. "Get us inside."

"No."

"Then we've got nothin' to talk about."

"There are innocent people!" Andrea snaps, eyes on Rick's retreating back.

He ain't listening. He meant what he said. We've got nothing to talk about. We're gonna kill the Governor, with or without her goddamn help. After a short argument with Michonne and meeting Ass Kicker, she's leaving. She could stay. She was one of us once. Adrienne would come around, I know she would. I don't get it. I don't get why she's leaving, running back to  _ Philip  _ even knowing what he is.

What he's done.

"Can you spare it?" She questions, eyeing the dusty old corrections vehicle Glenn just drove into the courtyard.

"Yeah," Rick nods.

He ain't about to make her walk home in the dark. She used to be one of us. I ain't sure if that's why or if Rick just don't want any more death on his conscience. Andrea's quiet for a few moments, taking one last look at everybody before hitting the road. Yeah, she used to be one of us. But she ain't no more.

"Well, take care," she says finally, ducking into the car.

"Andrea," Rick blurts, approaching the open window before she can even get the damn keys in the ignition.

He passes her the gun and small pocket knife she'd had when she rolled up.

"Be careful."

"You too," She nods.

Everyone came out here to see her off. Everyone but Adie. I think Rick and maybe Carol expected her to stay. I half expected it, too. She don't even look back.

*Adrienne's POV*

"Adie?"

It's Glenn.

I'm still not ready to talk to him. Hell, I'm not ready to talk to any of them. I've been in my cell for hours, daylight giving way to the night.

"I just came to tell you she's gone."

I know she's gone. She's been gone a while. He stays for a moment, leaving only when it becomes clear I'm not going to respond. He's spent the last few days treating me like shit. Andrea's a fucking idiot, and while I'm glad she's gone, she's not my problem. I feel so exposed. I don't want to be the person everyone's walking on eggshells around. Someone's in my doorway, and I'm sure it's Glenn back to try and coax me into coming out. Or Carol, maybe even Beth.

"You need to eat."

It's Daryl.

"I'm not hungry."

"Bullshit. Ain't seen you eat nothin' since breakfast."

With a sigh, I turn over and sit up, perched on the edge of my bunk. To my surprise, Daryl sinks down beside me.

"I don't wanna go out there," I mutter, glaring at my hands. "I don't wanna look around and see everyone lookin' back at me like I'm… like I'm weak."

"You ain't weak," He murmurs. "And you ain't your ol' man. They know you. You saved all our asses, more 'n once No one's gonna look at you different 'cause it ain't you."

"Why'd you come back?" I question abruptly, and he's silent for several moments. "Thought you weren't tryin' to be anything to anybody."

He flinches, but I can't bring myself to apologize or take it back. They're his words, not mine.

"This is home," he says quietly. "I wanted to be with my brother, but he just ain't… leavin' ain't what I wanted. I couldn't just leave 'im behind. I did that once, I ain't gonna lose 'im again."

"You didn't leave 'im, Daryl," I point out. "In Atlanta? He  _ knew _ where you were, and he didn't come find you. He got himself off that rooftop and  _ he  _ left."

"Nah," he shakes his head, but I can see in his eyes he knows I'm not lying. "Nah, he wouldn't do that."

" _ You _ wouldn't do that," I counter softly. "You're better than that, you  _ choose _ to be better than that. He doesn't."

"Well, how can he if y'all don't give 'im a chance?" He demands.

"He's here, isn't he?" I point out. "Rick's not makin' 'im leave."

"Yeah, but he ain't exactly welcomin' 'im with open arms, neither," he scoffs. "If there was just a little forgiveness, he'd make it right. He's gon' make it right."

"I hope so," I tell him sincerely. "I don't know if he can, but if he's anything like his brother, he'll try."

He blinks, seemingly taken aback.

"Daryl…" I trail off, unsure if I should ask, but knowing I have to. "If it doesn't work out, if Merle  _ can't _ make it right… are you gonna leave again?"

He can't answer. I know he can't, it's not fair to expect him to. The silence is static. There's so damn much to say between the two of us, yet neither of us can find the words. I'm staring at this man I never thought I'd see again, watching him, silently screaming, begging him not to go, never to leave me again. He's nervous, shoulders tense as he gnaws at his lip. His eyes catch mine and, just for a second, I'm consumed by him. He's changed so much. Without Merle around, he's become a better man. Realized he can be better, that he  _ wants _ to be.

I'd been afraid being around his brother would change him again, that he'd regress to the boy he was before. That he'd die. But he came back. He came back and he's the same. The man. Not that scared little boy, lashing out to protect the bleeding, aching mess inside. He's conflicted, the man he's becoming at war with the part of him that still believes he needs his brother, that he owes him. So which side will win? Is he here to stay? Will Merle even allow it? I can't lose him again. And I'm terrified that's exactly what's gonna happen.

Hesitantly, I take his hand in mine. He doesn't pull away. His face is shadowed in guilt. Indecision. I can't be angry with him. It hurt when he left, hell, it still hurts. But we might very well be dead tomorrow. He might decide he has to leave again tomorrow, or the next day or the next, his loyalty to Merle convincing him it's best. That he has to. The time I have with him is far from guaranteed and I can't waste it being angry. I love him.

"C'mon," he grunts, standing and pulling me to my feet.

I kiss him, pressing my lips to his before he can disappear. It's impulsive, sudden. He freezes, but soon melts into me. Later I'll probably wonder if he's ever gonna kiss me without hesitation, if he'll ever not be startled at my touch. But at the moment, all I can think about is the way his hands feel when he cautiously rests them over the swell of my hips. The way his lips move against mine, and how every kiss feels sweet like dying. How softly he kisses me, so different from anything I've ever experienced and not at all what I'd expect from such a rough 'n tumble man. A stark contrast from the men before, to whom a kiss was nothing, an appetizer, a pit stop on the road to the only thing I was good for, the only way I knew how to feel loved. Wanted.

But that wasn't love. This… this holds meaning. It  _ matters. _ Jesus, it's the realest, most tangible goddamn thing I've ever felt in my entire pathetic fucking life and I don't want to mess it up. I pull away slowly, wrapping my arms around him. His hands leave my hips as he stands there, breath hitching like he's just as scared as I am. I release him and look into his eyes searchingly.

"Is this still okay?" I whisper, praying internally to anyone who's listening that it is.

He nods, dipping his head once, and he's watching my lips, so vulnerable it almost physically hurts to see it. I gently cup his face with my hands, careful not to move too quickly, and brush my lips against his one more time. Then, together, we leave my cell and join our little family in the walkway outside the cells. Carol glances up upon our arrival, lips quirking into a smile when she notices our hands, still entwined. She raises an open can of fruit cocktail at me pointedly. I give Daryl's hand a squeeze and cross the room, sinking to the floor beside her. She hands me the can and a plastic spoon, then places her arm around me in a half hug, pulling me into her side.

"You talked?" She questions knowingly.

I feel my cheeks burn as I nod, popping a spoonful of syrupy fruit into my mouth. She chuckles softly and gives me a squeeze. I chance a glance at Daryl, standing against a cell across the room from me, and my heart does a flip when I see he's watching, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. It's the first time I've seen him smile in too long and I am content.

*Daryl's POV*

She didn't yell at me. I deserve it, but she didn't. Asked me why I came back. If I'm leaving again. I couldn't answer her. I don't know the answer. I want to stay, but I want to be with my brother. Maybe that's too much to ask of Merle. He ain't built to coexist. Didn't think I was, either, but I had to come back. They need me, but I need them more.

She's sitting, nestled between Carol and Beth, and my lips are still tingling from her kiss. Carol says something to her, I can't make out what, and she flushes and nods, catching my eyes. She's beautiful. It's undeniable. Even all bruised up and covered in months of blood and grime, she's beautiful. You'd have to be deaf, dumb, and blind not to see that. She's the kind of pretty that, before, could walk into any room anywhere in the goddamn world and have her pick. And she kissed  _ me. _ I don't know how to believe it.

She's worried about the group looking at her different, thinking she's weak, but they ain't gonna. She's proved who she is a hundred times over. She ain't weak. Going through what she has and still caring the way she does… she ain't weak. She belongs here. My thoughts are interrupted when Beth starts to sing, her clear, sweet voice echoing through the cell block. Even Merle steps out of the shadows to listen. Adrienne notices him, too. She plucks a can from the stack in front of her and rolls it across the floor, nodding at Merle as he crouches to pick it up.

"You gotta hold on, hold on…" Beth continues to sing, Adrienne joining in on the chorus, her voice softer, lower, the two blending in perfect harmony. "You gotta hold on. Take my hand, I'm standin' right here, you gotta hold on."

Rick joins Hershel and me leaning against the wall just outside Maggie and Glenn's cell, carrying Little Ass Kicker. Her name's Judith, but I still like mine better.

"Some reunion, huh?" I murmur, eyes on Rick.

"She's in a jam," he replies quietly.

"We all are," Hershel points out. "Andrea's persuasive. But this fella's armed to the teeth," he eyes Adrienne sadly, face softening. "Bent on destruction."

My blood begins to boil at the mention of the Governor. I'll kill the sumbitch. I'll level that whole damn town if I have to. What he's done to Adrienne… he don't get to live.

"So what do you wanna do?" I question.

"We match it," Rick decides. "I'm goin' on a run."

"I'll head out tomorrow," I volunteer, already thinking of places to check.

"No, you stay here," Rick counters, holding my gaze. "Keep an eye on your brother. I'm glad you're back, really. But if he causes a problem, it's on you."

"I got 'im," I assure him, eyes back on Adrienne.

I won't let her down again. Not ever. Not if I can help it. Rick follows my gaze, then eyes me curiously, the shadow of a smirk on his lips. I shift uncomfortably, looking away. I don't want him to think I'm a creep. He trusts me. I don't wanna fuck that up, not now.

"I'll take Michonne," he announces.

"You sure that's a good idea?" I ask.

"I'll find out," he nods. "Adie seems to trust her, and I trust Adie. I'll take Carl, too. He's ready. You hold it down here."

"You got it."

I ain't gonna let him down again, neither. Merle's my brother. Blood. But this here? This is my family.


	39. Pick a Side or Run

**Chapter 39**

*Adrienne's POV*

Rick left on a run first thing this morning, taking Michonne and Carl with him. I'm nervous about Carl going, but I have a good feeling about Michonne. We escaped Woodbury together. I know most of us are still wary of her, but, at the very least, we have a common enemy and that makes her a friend. She came to me last night, let me know the Governor had been keeping his dead daughter locked in a closet in his apartment. She'd turned and Michonne had put her down when she was trying to kill the Governor, taken his eye out. It's not enough, taking just his eye, not nearly, but… it's a decent start. I know Rick doesn't trust Michonne yet and neither does Daryl, but I think she might be one of us. I like her.

His daughter. My sister. I didn't know I'd had a sister. That my father had remarried, had a kid with some woman who wasn't my mama. Did her mother know what kind of monster she'd married? Did she know her baby wasn't his first? Did he hurt his new daughter? But of course he had. Men like that don't change. Can't change, even if they want to. I find myself mourning the little girl I never met. Wishing I'd been able to protect her, somehow. That I'd known her, been there for her. I'd always wanted a sister. A built in best friend, like Maggie and Beth.

The day is uneventful. Something went down between Daryl and Merle while they were gone. The dynamic between them has shifted. I can see it. The way Merle watches Daryl, cautious. Guilty almost. It's not my place to ask, but I have to admit it makes me curious. What changed? Regardless, Merle's on good behavior. The most excitement we had all day was when a rat scurried through the cell block and startled Beth. All is quiet. It feels like the calm before the storm.

"They're back," Carol's voice pulls me from my reverie.

We head out to meet them in the courtyard. Rick looks more relaxed than he has in months, and the reason for that becomes clear when he, Michonne, and Carl begin unloading the car. Weapons. Plenty of them. Food, things for the baby... we're gonna be fine.

"Wow, I was hopin' for one of these," I smirk, lifting a truly horrifying cat statue from the backseat.

"It's Michonne's," Carl says happily, looking up at the smiling woman beside him. "Said it was too damn gorgeous to leave."

"She did, huh?" I question, chuckling and handing Michonne her cat.

"This place could use some quality decor," she shrugs, eyes twinkling.

"And here I was, thinkin' we were gonna mount it outside the gates to scare Woodbury away," I tease.

Once we've got everything inside, we organize and stash it all away. Rick gathers everyone around and informs us that Andrea, in the interest of peace, has  _ 'invited' _ him to meet with the Governor in a week. He's gonna go. Play nice, talk things over, find out exactly how many we're dealing with, what resources they have. Glean any information he can from him. Then we take him out.

"Daryl, Hershel, you're comin' with me," Rick announces. "Everyone else, sit tight. We-"

"I'm goin'," I interrupt.

"Adrienne, we-" he tries, but I'm not having it.

"I'm  _ goin', _ " I repeat stubbornly. "If this goes sideways, you'll need me."

"She's right," Hershel points out.

So it's decided. A week later, we head out, Rick, Hershel and I in the Hyundai, Daryl leading the way on his bike. The meeting place is an abandoned feed and seed store about halfway between the prison and Woodbury. Neutral territory. We pull up and Rick and I get out. Hershel's staying with the car, he'll meet Daryl and I out front once we've seen Rick safely to his meeting with the Governor. We're taking the back way in.

Daryl's running point, Rick and I on his heels, silently weaving between the brick buildings and large silos dotting the locale, working our way over to the store. Rick slips in through the back door while Daryl and I continue around the corner and peek inside from the window just as Philip Blake himself steps from the shadows. What the hell? I hadn't seen any vehicles and we came early. He's not supposed to be here yet.

"We have a lot to talk about," he says.

"You attacked us," Rick murmurs. "Makes things pretty clear."

"I was tryin' to make things clear," the Governor counters. "I could've killed you all. I didn't."

"And here we are," Rick says flatly, raising his gun as the Governor goes for his.

"I'm gonna remove my weapon," he states calmly. "Show that I mean to negotiate in good faith. I'd like you to do the same. May I?"

He slowly removes his gun belt, hanging it on a post behind him.

"See?" He questions, a soothing lilt to his voice that fools no one. "No trouble. Now you."

Rick hesitates a moment, then holsters his revolver. He keeps it on him though, and this seems to displease the Governor. Good.

"Well… suit yourself," the Governor says nonchalantly, taking a seat at the table between the two men.

Deciding Rick isn't going to be ambushed, Daryl and I make our way towards the front of the store just as Hershel pulls up in the car.

"He's already in there," Daryl informs him. "Sat down with Rick."

"You see any cars when you pulled around?" I question, something not quite sitting well in my gut.

"I didn't," Hershel replies, scanning the area around us.

"It don't feel right," Daryl mutters. "Keep it runnin'."

Then the roar of an engine sounds.

"Heads up," Daryl says, patting the hood of the car as an SUV comes barreling towards us.

Hershel climbs out of the car as the SUV comes to a screeching halt, the two men from that night in my father's apartment and Andrea exiting.

"What the hell, why's your boy already in there?" Daryl demands.

"He's here?" Andrea questions, clueless as usual.

"Yup," Daryl confirms, Andrea shooting a betrayed glare at her companions before entering the store with a sigh.

One of the Woodbury men, the dweeby one, immediately pulls out a notebook and pen, scribbling furiously. The other, a man I'm pretty sure my father had called Martinez, just eyes us dubiously. I don't like the look of him, now that I'm seeing him in the light of day. He's the muscle. Notebook boy still looks harmless enough, though.

"Maybe I should go inside," Hershel suggests, breaking the silence.

"The Governor thought it best if he and Rick spoke privately," Notebook boy pipes up.

"Privately with Andrea?" I scoff.

"Who the hell're you?" Daryl questions.

"Milton Mamet," Notebook Boy says hesitantly.

"Great," Daryl says, glancing at me. "He brought his butler."

Martinez chuckles at this, clearly not a fan of Milton despite being on the same side.

"I'm his advisor," Milton corrects.

"What kinda advice?" Daryl demands.

"Planning. Biters," Milton begins a list, then thinks better of it. "Uh, you know, I'm sorry. I don't feel like I need to explain myself to the henchman."

"You better watch your mouth, sunshine," Daryl retorts, unphased.

"Look, if you and I are gonna be out here pointin' guns at each other all day, do me a favor," Martinez cuts in. "Shut your mouth."

Daryl doesn't take too kindly to this, striding towards the man. Fuck, we can't do this yet. Still, I raise my gun. Martinez so much as blinks at Daryl wrong, I'll take him out.

"We don't need this," Hershel declares. "If all goes south in there, we'll be at each other's throats soon enough."

The two men stare each other down for another moment, a smirk playing on Martinez's face. Daryl walks away, taking the high road even though I know he wants nothing more than to beat the shit outta this tool.

"Nice to see you again, Miss Blake," Martinez says cooly.

"Eat shit, Martinez," I hiss, earning a carefree chuckle from the man before silence falls once more.

We all remain quiet for a bit, eyeing each other warily, then raised voices float from the shed and Andrea steps out. Woah. She looks butthurt. Guess she doesn't have the authority she thought she did. Go fucking figure.

Daryl leaves to retrieve his bike and I perch myself cross-legged atop our car, keeping my eyes locked on Martinez. Andrea and Milton aren't a threat to us, but Martinez... he's too willing to pick a fight, push buttons. He enjoys this. He's the one to watch. Daryl returns, immediately up off the Triumph, pacing back and forth beside the car, keyed up and anxious.

"There's no reason not to use this time we have together to explore the issues ourselves," Milton suggests, approaching Daryl.

"Boss said to sit tight and shut up," Martinez warns.

"Don't you mean the Governor?" Daryl asks snarkily.

"It's a good thing they're sitting down, especially after what happened," Milton insists. "They're gonna work it out, nobody wants another battle."

"Speak for yourself," I huff.

"Wouldn't exactly call it a battle," Daryl points out indignantly.

"Attempted slaughter'd be more accurate," I mutter.

"I would call it a battle and I did," Milton announces, holding up a tiny leather journal. "I recorded it."

"For what?" Daryl questions.

"Somebody's gotta keep a record of what we've gone through," Milton points out. "It'll be a part of our history."

"That makes sense," Hershel agrees.

"I've got dozens of interviews-" Milton starts, encouraged by Hershel's agreement.

He's interrupted by the tell-tale sounds of the dead snarling and stumbling about. Andrea, Martinez, Daryl and I head in the direction of the noise to check it out. Martinez snatches a baseball bat from the SUV, Andrea and I both opting for knives. Daryl's got his crossbow. There's a small group of walkers attempting to navigate their way between the silos.

"After you," Daryl says grandly, gesturing at Martinez.

"No way," he argues, challenging. "You first."

"For Christ's sake, move.," I hiss impatiently, shoving past them.

Andrea and I square off against the nearest two walkers while the men measure their dicks. She emits a ridiculous battle cry before driving her knife into her walker, but at least she's helping get shit done.

"Pussy," Martinez spits at Daryl, brandishing his bat and joining the fray, taking out a single walker with an inordinate amount of flourish meant to intimidate.

Not wanting to get caught in the middle of this bullshit, I move out of the way as Daryl pushes past Martinez determinedly. I have to admit, a small thrill skitters up my spine watching Daryl as he shoots an arrow through the eye socket of a walker, not needing any fancy choreography or self importance to be impressive. Andrea sighs witheringly and stalks off, but I'm staying for the show.

Martinez whirls his bat around, making another big production of taking out a second walker before approaching the last two. Daryl fires another arrow, getting the closer walker clean through the eye and piercing the one behind it. Then he pulls his knife out, throwing it at the last walker just as Martinez raises his bat. His aim is true, knife plunging into the eye socket of the final walker.

Martinez looks back at Daryl, irritated but unable to hide he's impressed. I chuckle softly, leaving them to it and heading back to Hershel, assuming my previous position atop our car.

*Daryl's POV*

I know we're being immature jackasses, but I can't help it. He wanted to play tough guy, he's been sizing me up all goddamn morning. I wanted to prove I ain't a pansy, that he don't wanna fuck with me. The last walker falls, and the look on Martinez's face is well worth the effort. Adie just laughs, shaking her head and walking away. Martinez and me stay to loot the bodies.

"How lucky's that?" I question, pulling a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of one of the corpses, holding it up for Martinez to see.

He don't say nothin', but now that we've both established we ain't gonna tear each other apart… maybe we ain't gotta be at each other's throats  _ all _ day. We're on opposite sides, but that don't mean we gotta fight. Yet. I stick a cigarette between my lips, then offer the pack to the other man.

"Nah," he declines. "I prefer menthols."

Menthols? But I'm the pussy?

"Douchebag," I grunt, slipping the pack into my back pocket and lighting up. "You army or sum'n?"

"Nah, I just…" he trails off, looking at the bloody bat in his hands. "Just hate these things. You know, after what they did to my wife. Kids."

"Sucks," I tell him sympathetically.

"Thanks," he mutters, glaring at the ground.

It's quiet for a beat or two. Ain't nothin' else to say, really. It does suck.

"You know this is a joke, right?" He questions, eyeing me. "They ain't gonna work anything out. Sure, they'll do their little dance and tomorrow, next day… they'll give the word."

"I know."

He don't gotta say what comes next. We're on opposite sides. Come tomorrow or next week, we'll be shooting at each other. I wanna ask him if he knows about his Governor's thing for little girls, but I don't bother. Don't change nothin'.

"Hey," he blurts, pointing at the cigarettes in my pocket.

I nod, offering the pack. We ain't friends. But we ain't enemies just yet, neither.

*Adrienne's POV*

"Adrienne?" Andrea's staring up at me, crying.

Oh, hell. I pat the roof of the car beside me and she climbs up, sitting heavily as she works out in her head whatever it is she wants to say.

"What happened with you and Maggie?" She questions softly, voice cracking.

I let the question hang for a moment, trying to decide what to tell her. I don't like this woman. She knows it. I find her to be impulsive. Arrogant, sometimes downright stupid. But I think she's trying. In her own misguided way.

"He's not right in the head," I mutter, meeting her eyes. "My mama figured it out while I was still young, around Carl's age, took me and ran.  _ Councilman Blake. _ "

"Your dad was a councilman?" She blurts, and I nod.

"Wanted to be a Senator. Never thought I'd see him again, and then Woodbury… he wanted to know where the prison was. Merle wanted Daryl. We wouldn't tell 'em. He uh… he put his hands on Maggie."

"He… did he…"

" _ Rape _ her?" I demand, tired of everyone tip-toeing around the word.

"Did he?"

"No," I sigh. "He figured out who I was, you know, came after me, and he..." I trail off, tracing the faded bruises on my neck. "It's about power.  _ Control. _ All this?" I gesture vaguely. "None of this matters, it's all just bullshit. He's not gonna negotiate. The day's gonna come when you'll need to pick a side or run."

She nods, tears flowing as she slides off the car and walks away, Hershel following her. I guess I've been so caught up in my own dislike that I hadn't stopped to think about how lonely she must be. Losing her sister, Dale, all of us… she needed to be part of something. My father fooled her, but at one time he'd had my mama fooled, too. I can't fault Andrea for that. Even if she is a bitch most of the time.

Daryl and Martinez eventually emerge from behind the storage tanks, reeking of smoke, significantly less animosity between the two. What seems like an eternity later, Rick and the Governor appear, my father doing a double take when he spots Daryl helping me down from the top of our car, placing himself protectively in front of me.

"Adie Bee!" He greets, faux jubilance dripping from his sickly sweet voice. "Rick didn't tell me we had the pleasure of your company. I'd uh, I'd like you to know, my offer still stands. There will always be a place for you at Woodbury."

"I already told you what you can do with your offer," I tell him flatly.

"Well, nerves were a little frayed that night," he smiles and my stomach lurches. "You're welcome to ride back with us. I have a lot of catching up to do with my special girl."

"That right?" I question calmly, trying like hell not to let him see me tremble as he chuckles mirthlessly. "If I see her, I'll let her know."

"Oh, Adie Bee, you really are just like your mother," he chuckles. "She was a spitfire, too. And a beauty. A trait you seem to have inherited as well. Then, I always knew you would," he smiles fondly, then his remaining eye goes cold. "Shame about her death."

He turns to leave, but there's a question that's been burning a hole in the back of my mind for days. I need to know.

"What was her name?" I demand, sounding much more intimidating than I feel. "My  _ sister. _ She had a name. What was it?"

The question catches him off guard, stops him dead in his tracks. I watch him clench his fists, watch the quiet rage course through his body, his muscles going taut beneath his cool exterior.

"Penny," he states, not bothering to turn around and face me. "Short for Penelope."

With that he climbs into his SUV, his men and Andrea following suit. My stomach is rolling.  _ Penelope. _ I'm gonna be sick. Rick and Hershel hop into our car, and I'm about to follow when Daryl stops me.

"Come on," he murmurs, taking my hand and leading me to his bike.

He climbs on and I slide into the seat behind him, wrapping my arms firmly around his waist.

"Hold this," he mutters, passing me his crossbow.

"My middle name is Penelope," I blurt, slinging the bow over my shoulder, letting it hang on my back.

It's familiar, carrying his bow. In the early days on the road, after the farm, when I was on the back of this thing all the time, this was a routine occurrence.  _ You gon' end up puttin' your eye out. _ I didn't think so, I felt like I was avoiding the bolt tips just fine, but he didn't leave any room for arguing and, besides, it was a damn good excuse to get closer to him.

"You all right?" He questions softly, waiting for my nod before starting the bike, engine roaring to life beneath us.

And I am all right. I'm not a little girl anymore. I'm not confused. I know what my father is. I know the difference between right and wrong. I know what love feels like, what it's supposed to be. I hold Daryl a little tighter, resting my head against his shoulder.

*Daryl's POV*

I want to rip that motherfucker's other eye out. My blood is boiling the entire way home, rage coursing through my veins. Sick fuck… I'm gonna kill him. I'll do it so she don't have to. Adrienne's arms tighten around me and, when her head falls to rest against my shoulder, I know if I'd been paying any less attention to the road, I'd've run right off of it. I've looked at other girls before. Dumb, teenage, hormone induced crushes on them bitchy girls I could never have, and that cute bartender at Merle's favorite stripper joint who never bothered learning my name, just called me Sugar, refilled my drinks, and left me the fuck alone.

Adie's different. I want to be around her all the time, which isn't fucking normal, and I've grown to almost welcome her touch. Knowing what she's been through, I know she can see it in me. The damage. My old man hadn't exactly been a winner, neither. I know that's why she's so deliberate when she reaches for me, most of the time. She understands I need her to be. She just… gets it.

We pull up to the gate, Carol quickly yanking it open for us, slamming it shut and securing it once Rick and Hershel pull in behind us. Most of the group is here to greet us, anxious for news of a successful negotiation, no doubt. Adrienne stealthily presses her lips to the back of my neck, feather light, no one the wiser, before she dismounts the bike and I know my ears have gotta be beet red.

"Let's get inside," Rick orders.

We follow him into the cell block, everyone gathering round.

"So I met this Governor," he starts with a nod, addressing the group but his gaze lingering on Adrienne. "Sat with him for quite a while."

"Jus' the two of you?" Merle asks.

"Yeah," Rick confirms.

"Shoulda gone when we had the chance, bro," Merle says, eyeing Glenn meaningfully.

"He wants the prison," Rick announces. "He wants us gone. Dead. He wants us dead for what we did to Woodbury."

"Maybe not all of you," Merle cuts in, eyeing Adrienne pointedly.

"She ain't a bargainin' chip, man," I mutter.

"We're goin' to war," Rick says gravely.

He wheels around abruptly, stalking outside as the arguments start. Michonne and Merle both think we should act now, strike first, but we ain't strong enough for that. Adie pointed out the fact that these people have the Governor on a pedestal. They think we're monsters. If we kill him, if we attack, it needs to be with enough force to lay waste to the entire town, or someone else'll just take his place. Avenge their fallen hero. Innocent people will die, and she seems mostly okay with that. The price we have to pay, keep our own safe. Carol and Hershel think we should leave, survive on the road like we did before. Glenn and Maggie think we should stay here, get ready to fight back when they come for us.

Nearly two days going back and forth, around in circles, Adrienne and Glenn nearly coming to blows several times, only to find out all that arguing was a waste of time anyway. Rick's already decided what it's gonna be. The Governor made him an offer. Adrienne  _ or _ Michonne in exchange for our freedom. He don't even care which. He just wants to torture Rick, make him choose. And he did. He's not gonna give Adie up. He's gonna sacrifice Michonne. It don't feel right. It's a lie, it has to be. We'll give him Michonne and he'll kill us all anyway.

"It's the only way," Rick says solemnly, standing outside with Hershel and me. "No one else knows."

"I still think you need to tell Adrienne, Rick," Hershel says softly.

"I can't," Rick says emphatically. "She'll give herself up to try and keep us safe, you  _ know _ she will. I can't… I can't have that."

I can't, either. But Michonne's one of us now. She's bonding with people here. No one's gonna be okay with this, no matter how scared they are.

"You gon' tell the rest of 'em?" I question.

"Not till after," he shakes his head. "We have to do it today, it has to be quiet."

"Got a plan?" I ask him.

"We tell her we need to talk," he suggests. "Away from the others."

"Just ain't us, man," I argue, shaking my head.

"No," Hershel agrees. "No, it isn't."

He hobbles back inside without another word, Rick turning to me expectantly.

"We do this, we avoid a fight," He points out. "No one else dies."

I keep thinking of what Adie said a week and a half ago, when Andrea showed up here.  _ He doesn't negotiate. _ Rick ain't keeping this from her 'cause he's afraid she'll give herself up, he's keeping it from her 'cause she might be the only person here who can change his mind.

"All right," I nod my unwilling assent.

"We need someone else," Rick announces, and I know he means Merle.

"I'll talk to 'im," I offer.

"I'll do it."

"I'll go with you."

"No," he insists. "Just me."

What's he not telling me?


	40. I Know How the Safety Works

**Chapter 40**

*Adrienne's POV*

"What the hell are you doin'?" I ask, gawking as Merle eviscerates a mattress.

"Jus' lookin' for a little vacation," he says innocently. "Best dope I ever had was in a mattress."

"Uh-huh. Well, how's that workin' for you?" I question, leaning against the door frame. "You find a trip to the Bahamas stashed away in there?"

"Nothin'," he sighs dejectedly. "This place musta been no fun at all."

"It's a prison, asshole," I chuckle, unable to help myself. "It's not supposed to be fun."

"Adie, can you give us a moment?" Rick asks from behind me, eyeing the mess on the floor.

I nod obligingly, heading down the stairs. Maggie and Carl are on their way outside, armed with pots and spoons.

"Adie!" Carl greets brightly.

"Hey, man. Whatcha doin'?" I question, eyeing the cookware.

"We're gonna help Michonne," he shrugs like it's obvious. "Hey, you're loud. C'mon, you can help."

"I'm... loud?"

"Yeah, c'mon."

And so I take my loud ass outside with them, hollering and smacking at the fence with Carl and Maggie, popping the dead bastards through the chain link while Daryl and Glenn place a homemade spike strip several yards from our gate, Michonne taking out any walkers that get too close to 'em while Beth idles nearby in the truck. Teamwork. Rick sprints outside, evidently done chatting with Merle. He yanks open the gate for Glenn to pull the truck through, and he, Daryl, and Michonne pull in and hop out of the vehicle.

"Try to drive up to the gate again, maybe some blown tires will stop them," Glenn explains to Rick.

"It's brilliant!" I crow happily.

"That's a good idea," Rick agrees.

"It was Michonne's," Daryl murmurs, exchanging a glance with Rick.

"We don't have to win," Michonne says. "We just have to make their getting at us more trouble than it's worth."

"Brilliant," I repeat, hopeful for the first time that we just might beat Woodbury.

I head back inside to grab a canteen. Daryl, Glenn, and Michonne look like if it gets any hotter they're gonna pass out. I bump into Merle, quite literally.

"Woah, woah, woah, hold on now, sugar," he smirks. "At least buy me a drink first."

"Could you be more prepubescent right now?" I ask him, cocking my head.

"Well ain't you smart, usin' them big words," he pouts sarcastically. "Poor ol' Merle jus' can't keep up."

"Shut the fuck up, Merle, I know you read," I counter.

He grins at me, then something in his gaze shifts, his face softening as he eyes me.

"You do right by my brother, hear?" He questions solemnly.

What the hell?

"Found somethin' stashed away in a mattress somewhere after all, I see," I mutter, brushing him off.

"Oh, come on," he scoffs. "I seen the way y'all watch each other, mhmm. Yeah... salivatin' like you was hound dogs at a barbeque," he eyes me, daring me to disagree. "Do right by 'im, Adie, I'm serious."

"Adie," I repeat in mock surprise. "So you  _ do _ know my name, then."

"My brother was always the sweet one," Merle says softly, something that looks an awful lot like nostalgia in his eyes. "He deserves a good woman," he smirks, chuckling. "But he wants you, so I suppose you'll jus' have to do."

Well, shit. Maybe Merle's turning a new leaf after all. Come to think of it, that room he locked me in being on an outside wall, ground floor, with a window? That's not a coincidence. Merle's too smart for that. He made  _ sure _ I could get out.

"Hey, uh…" I clear my throat. "What you did at Woodbury, leavin' me in a room with options… I know it wasn't an accident. I got out 'cause of you. Thank you."

"Any time, sugar," he drawls lazily, his mask of careful indifference firmly back in place.

I nod quietly and scurry away, mind reeling.  _ He wants you. _ Did Daryl say something? Is it that obvious I have feelings for him? I'm trying not to draw attention to it. I don't want to make him uncomfortable, and attention will do exactly that. I head outside, having forgotten all about the canteen and not really sure where I'm going, but needing to do something useful. Before I can occupy my mind with a task, Glenn is suddenly behind me.

"Adie," he greets softly, not meeting my eyes. "I'm sorry. You were right. Maggie… I couldn't let it go, couldn't stop thinking about what he made her do, what he did to you, and then with Merle here…" he trails off. "I just… there's no excuse, and I understand if you hate me now, I just wanted you to know. I  _ am _ sorry. I never should've doubted you or, or thrown the Governor in your face like that."

His eyes well with tears and I can't hold onto the anger I've let fester over the last few days. He's my brother.

"Shit, cheer up, Glum," I murmur, elbowing him gently. "Okay? I get it. None of what happened was okay. You were just… goin' through your process. I just needed you to understand… I'm on  _ your  _ side and I'm not goin' anywhere. Until… until Woodbury, I hadn't seen that man in fifteen years. He's not my family, my family's right here."

He nods, and I pull him into a hug.

"You're still a dick, though." I tease, snickering.

He grins, releasing me, and lopes away, looking a little bit lighter despite our grim circumstances. He and Maggie must have finally made up, too, and I'm happy for him. For both of them. I'm pulled from my pleasant thoughts by the snarls of a single walker desperately trying to gnaw its way through the fence. I glance down at the knife hanging from my belt, then back at the walker.

Why the hell not? We haven't spotted any snipers since the attack, and that section of fence is blocked by a guard tower and a portion of the prison block anyway. Even  _ if _ someone's watching us, I'd be outside their sightlines. I spend the next hour or so rattling the fence, luring the dead bastards over and taking 'em out one by one through the chain link.

*Daryl's POV*

"Hey!" I holler, spotting Glenn putting bars over one of the breaches in the prison wall. "You seen Merle around?"

He glares at me, ignoring the question. I know we ain't talked and and him and Merle ain't exactly friends, but… but he's just gonna have to make it work. Merle's with us. He's gonna try, why can't Glenn try, too? I grab one side of the bars, helping him secure them in place with chains and a padlock.

"He say he was sorry yet?" I question, eyeing him. "'Cause he is."

He's ignoring me. Walking away. I ain't gonna let him. He's my friend, I need him to hear me out.

"He's gon' make it right," I try again, following him over to one of the metal tables in the courtyard. "I'm gon' make 'im. There's gotta be a way. Jus' needs to be a little forgiveness is all."

This seems to get his attention, but it ain't like I was hoping.

"He tied me to a chair, beat me, and threw a walker in the room," he says flatly, anger flashing in his eyes. " _ Maybe  _ I could call it even. But he… he took Maggie to a man who terrorized her,  _ humiliated  _ her. And Adie… have you looked at her, man? Did you  _ see _ what he did to her? It was more than a few cuts and some bruises, Daryl. I care more about them than I care about me."

He whirls back around, turning back to the table where he's putting together a bunch of Molotovs. More than cuts and bruises. Jesus. He thinks I don't know? That I don't care enough? He's wrong. I just care about Merle, too. I leave him, make my way into the prison. Knowing my brother, he's probably looking for drugs somewhere. But he ain't in the block or the infirmary, neither. I wander around the hallways, glancing into every room, every cell. Nothin'.

"Merle!" I call out, stepping into the dark hallway that leads to the generator room. "You down here?"

If he's down here, he ain't answering. But something's making noise, all kinds of rattling around.

"Merle!" I snap impatiently, rounding the corner into the room.

"Hey, little brother," Merle greets me, leaning nonchalantly against a metal shelf.

"What the hell?" I demand, approaching him.

"I was jus' about to holler back at you," he assures me.

"Whatcha doin' down here?" I question.

"Uh, jus' lookin' for a little uh… crystal meth," he informs me, and I wish he was kidding. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Shit'll mess my, my life up when everything's goin' so sweet, right?"

He chuckles derisively, but he knows it ain't funny. If he could just get his shit together, he could be a part of this. He's just gotta try.

"You talk to Rick yet?" I ask.

"Yeah, oh, yeah," he says. "Yeah. I'm in. But uh… he ain't got the stomach for it. He's gon' buckle, you know that, right?"

"Yeah," I dip my head, shrugging. "If he does, he does."

"Hm," he grunts, eyeing me curiously. "You want 'im to?"

"Whatever he says goes," I sigh, but he knows the truth.

I ain't down for this. Trading Michonne for the  _ possibility _ of avoiding a fight? It ain't who we are.

"Man," Merle scoffs. "Do you even possess a pair of balls, little brother? Are they even  _ attached? _ "

I don't need to listen to this shit. I ain't gonna. I turn to leave, but he's still talking.

"I mean, if they are, they belong to you?" He sneers as I turn back to face him. "You used to call people like that  _ sheep. _ What happened to you? You get a, you get a taste of that redhead, you tryna impress her, find Jesus, what?"

"What happened with you and Glenn, Maggie… 'n  _ Adie? _ " I shake my head.

"I've done worse," his lip curls in disgust and he looks just like our ol' man. "You need to grow up. Things're different now. Your people look at me like I'm the devil… grabbin' up those lovebirds and your fuckin'  _ princess _ like that, huh? Now y'all wanna do the same damn thing I did. Snatch someone up 'n deliver 'em to the Governor, jus' like me. Yeah."

He regards me warily, but I ain't got nothin' to say to that.

"People do what they gotta do or they die," he hisses.

"Can't do things without people anymore, man," I tell him, but he just scoffs.

"Maybe these people need somebody like me around, huh?" He demands. "Do their dirty work. The bad guy. Yeah, maybe that's how it is now, huh? How's that hit you?"

"I jus' want my brother back," I murmur, desperate for him to understand, to just  _ try. _

"Get outta here, man," he turns away, but not before I can see the tears in his eyes.

I leave him to his process. I know it ain't easy, but he can change. He ain't broken,  _ we  _ ain't broken. There's still hope, even for us. He don't need to be an outsider, not anymore.

*Adrienne's POV*

"Adrienne, you seen Merle or Michonne?" Rick questions, striding towards me.

"Not for a while, why?" I question breathlessly, dabbing away the sweat beading at my temples.

He doesn't answer me, making a beeline for where Daryl's standing watch in the courtyard instead. Something's up, so I follow him.

"Rick, what's-"

"It's off," Rick says cryptically, cutting me off. "We'll take our chances."

"I'm not sayin' it was the wrong call, but this is definitely the right one," Daryl tells him, nodding at me in greeting. "What's wrong?"

"I can't find Merle or Michonne," Rick frets, scanning the yard. "They've gone."

"Gone? Together?" I question, baffled. "They can't stand each other."

"C'mon," Daryl says, sprinting inside with Rick and I on his heels as he leads us into the generator room. "He was in here," he says, looking around the Merle-less room. "Said he was lookin' for drugs. Said a lot of things, actually."

"Like what?" Rick inquires, the three of us spreading out and searching the room.

"Said that you were gonna change your mind," Daryl tells him, stopping dead in his tracks, looking down at a small cloth sack on the floor. "Here we go. Yeah, he took her here. They mixed it up."

"What the hell're you talkin' about?" I demand.

"Adie," Rick sighs. "Your... the Governor made me an offer. Michonne for peace. We were gonna do it, but I can't. Won't," he says, eyes pleading.

"And Merle knew about this?" I demand, putting two and two together. "Jesus, Rick."

"Damn it!" He curses, highly agitated. "I'm goin' after 'im."

"You can't track for shit," Daryl points out.

"Then the both of us," Rick concedes.

"No, just me," Daryl insists. "I said I'd go and I'll go. Plus they're gonna come back here 'n you need to be ready. Your family, too."

He eyes Rick, who nods reluctantly, then glances at me and suddenly I'm panicking. What if he doesn't come back? He slips out the door and Rick and I share a look. Then I sprint after Daryl.

"Adrienne, st-" Rick starts to protest, but I pay him no mind.

"Daryl!" I call to his retreating form. He stops, allowing me to catch up. "Um… be careful.  _ Come back. _ "

"I ain't plannin' on stayin' gone," he assures me.

"Just be safe," I tell him.

I love you, I want to say. But I don't. 

"Bring 'em home."

He nods and before I can waste any more of his time, he's gone.

*Daryl's POV*

Ain't that just like Merle? Something needs doing, he has to be the one to do it. Always been that way, always will be. Would it kill the man to wait one time, just one fucking time? This shit is why he's missing a hand. My thoughts are interrupted when I come across Michonne. Merle ain't with her.

"Hey!" I shout, approaching her as she yanks her blade from the head of a walker at her feet. "Where's my brother? You kill 'im?" 

"He let me go," she informs me, shaking her head.

"Don't let anyone come after me," I tell her, breaking into a run.

Why would he just let her go? He goes through all the trouble of bringing her out here, then he lets her go? That ain't him. Something ain't right. I keep running, and I know I'm on his trail without even looking. I know where he's headed.

*Adrienne's POV*

"Because I knew you'd give yourself up!" Rick hisses.

He filled me in after Daryl left. He wasn't gonna tell us til the deed was done, wasn't gonna tell  _ me _ at all. He had to make a choice. Me or Michonne, offer one of us to the Governor for the  _ sliver  _ of a chance he might let the rest of us live. He knew we wouldn't accept it, delivering Michonne to Woodbury. She's one of us.

"You're  _ wrong, _ " I snap. "I wouldn't've given myself up 'cause  _ I know him. _ There is no deal and we all just wasted two days doin'  _ fuck all _ when we could've been gettin' ready!"

The Governor doesn't negotiate. This deal, Michonne or me for freedom, it's bullshit. He just wants her out of the line of fire so he can make damn sure he's the one who kills her. If Rick had told me in the first damn place, I could've told him as much. Maybe that's why he didn't.

"What was I supposed to do, Adrienne?" He snarls. "Tell everybody, let you all talk me out of it?"

"That's exactly what you were supposed to do!" I explode. "It can't be all on you, Rick. You can't be makin' these decisions for us, you can't-"

"What, you think, you think  _ you _ could do better?"

"No, I don't. But I think this is killin'  _ you. _ You're a good leader, Rick. You are, but you can't carry it anymore. This isn't a democracy, but maybe it  _ should _ be. It can't just be you. I know you're tryin' to protect us all, makin' it so we don't have to make the decisions, but it's  _ heavy. _ I think you need to put it down, even just for a little while."

Rick just blinks at me, almost like he's not sure what I just said or if I was even speaking English.

"Rick?"

"How did your mom die?"

I balk. Why the hell would he ask me that?

"What the hell does that have to do with-"

"Did she die in a car accident?"

It's silent for a beat or two, his eyes like lasers on mine.

"Yes," I breathe.

"What was your dad before?"

"What-"

"His job, Adie, what was his job?" He demands, exasperated. "What did he do?"

"He was a councilman," I hiss. "Rick, what the hell does-"

"He told me he was a paper pusher," he interrupts. "Led me to believe he had some kinda office job, a boss half his age, that he got a call just outta the blue sayin' his wife died in an accident."

Oh.

"He manipulated you," I murmur. "Made you think he was a blue collar guy, fed you some sob story so you'd relate to him."

"Get the others and meet me in the courtyard," he mutters, whirling abruptly and stalking away.

-

"When I met with the Governor…" Rick says heavily, eyeing the group gathered before him. "He offered me a deal. He said… he said he would leave us alone if I gave him Adrienne  _ or _ Michonne. And I was gonna do that, I was gonna give him Michonne… to keep us safe."

No one speaks. What can anyone say, really?

"I changed my mind," he nods. "But now Merle took Michonne to fulfill the deal and Daryl went to stop him and I don't know if it's too late. I was _wrong_ not to tell you. And I'm sorry. What I said last year, that first night after the farm… it can't be like that. _It can't._ What we do, what we're willin' to do, _who we are,_ it's not my call. It can't be. I couldn't sacrifice one of us for the greater good because… because _we are_ the greater good. _We're_ the reason we're still here, _not_ me. This is life and death. How you live… how you die, it isn't up to me. I'm not your _Governor._ _We_ choose to go. _We_ choose to stay. We stick together. We vote. We can stay 'n we can fight or we can go."

He leaves us with that, heading up to the catwalk to watch for Daryl.

*Daryl's POV*

I'm here. The abandoned feed store where we'd met with the Governor. There are bodies everywhere. Some human, most walkers. He was here. There's a car in the middle of the carnage, I know it's his. I followed it's tread here. He led the walkers in.

So where the hell is he? I make my way through the corpse littered field, checking each body I pass. None are him. I keep going and then I see him. What's left of him. He's crouched over a corpse, feasting on the dead flesh. No. No, no, this can't happen. My brother...

He, it… it looks at me. The shell of my brother staring at me through clouded eyes. He rises, stumbling towards me and I can't. I can't do it. Tears are burning my eyes, sobs wrenching themselves loose from my throat.

"No!" I cry, shoving him away.

He keeps coming. I push him again, and again, then I pierce his neck with my knife. The man I loved and loathed most in this world. But it ain't him. No, Merle's already gone. I shove him to the ground, kneeling over his body and everything I've carried inside me for so long just… breaks. I plunge my knife into his face over and over and over… the rage, the grief, the fucking  _ hate... _ it consumes me. Every emotion I've ever held back, it all comes rushing to the surface. I fall to the ground beside my dead brother and sob.

*Adrienne's POV*

Daryl didn't get back until after nightfall. As soon as I saw his face I knew. Merle's gone. It hurts more than I thought it would. Merle, deep down, was a good man who made shitty choices. His brother made him a better man than he wanted to admit. He let Michonne go, then led a small army of walkers straight to the Governor's meeting spot. Took out as many men as he could before he went down. He turned. Daryl had to put him down.

Come morning light, we've taken a vote and we're keeping what's ours. We fought for it. Some of us  _ died _ for it. It's home. We know we're being watched. So we're staging an exit. We're packing everything up, moving the cars out. Hershel, Beth, and Carl are gonna hide in the woods with Little Ass Kicker while the rest of us lay in wait. We'll be ready.

I've been hovering near Daryl. I'm not gonna force him to talk about it. Even if I tried, I doubt he would. But I'm staying close to him, just in case he needs to. Just so he knows he can. Carol's been sticking close, too. If he's annoyed by it, it doesn't show.

"You know," he starts, sitting cross-legged on the ground, folding up his poncho and shoving it into the bag he keeps on his bike. "Merle never did nothin' like that his whole life."

"He gave us a chance," Carol tells him, pulling him to his feet.

"Let's make damn sure it counts," I murmur, shouldering one of the bags on the ground and moving to put it in the back of the Hyundai.

We take our places, waiting. Glenn and Maggie are up on the walk, wearing riot gear. Rick and Michonne in the generator room, ready to pull the levers that'll trigger the alarm system. Daryl and Carol in the yard, waiting to sabotage Woodbury's equipment once they're inside. I'm tucked away in one of the solitary cells in the tombs, armed with several flash bangs and triple chasers.

I can hear them coming, what sounds like a fleet of engines rumbling in the distance, getting closer. Closer. Then something outside explodes. Two more explosions. They must be taking out the towers. Then a whole hell of a lot of gunfire. It's jarring, but nevertheless I hold my position. Then I hear them, inside the prison. I clutch the flash bang in my hand a little tighter.

We'll wait 'em out. Let the Governor and his men search. They'll find nothing. Well. That's not entirely true. Hershel left a little message for the Governor. He left an open Bible with a single highlighted passage. John 5:29.  _ And shall come forth; they that have done good, unto the resurrection of life; and they that have done evil, into the resurrection of damnation. _ I left a note beside it, just in case my father needs a little clarification. A scrap of paper from Beth's journal, upon which is a hastily scrawled  _ 'see you in Hell.' _ He'll know who it's from.

He'll find nothing otherwise. They'll all go scurrying back out like bilge rats fleeing a sinking ship, and when they do… we're gonna take 'em all out. Suddenly, beams of light are slashing through the hallway, footsteps and hushed whispers moving steadily closer. Almost. I just need 'em a little closer. One of the Woodbury men steps into view, tentatively pushing open the cell across from me. Now.

I pull the pins and hurl a couple grenades into the hallway, the explosions enough distraction to the Woodbury people that I'm able to slip from my cell and tear down the hallway in the opposite direction from the chaos I've just created. As planned, the blasts have signalled Rick and Michonne. The alarm rings out, just as sharp and piercing a sound as it had been the day we lost Lori and T-Dog. The blasts from the grenades and the shrieking alarms send Woodbury reeling, panicking, hurtling back out the way they'd come in. Glenn and Maggie will pick 'em off at the door.

I tear through the tombs, flying back outside to the courtyard just in time to see my father and his men retreat, engines rumbling away much faster than they'd come. I guess they weren't expecting to be played. I really can't help the giddy smile spreading across my face. For now, we've won. Daryl, Carol, Rick, Michonne, Glenn, and Maggie are all here, too, breathlessly watching with me. They're all in one piece, not a single new scratch on any of them. We did it.

"We did it," Rick says in happy disbelief, echoing my thoughts. "We drove 'em out."

"We should go after them," Michonne suggests.

"We should finish it," Daryl agrees.

"It is finished," Maggie says emphatically. "Didn't you see 'em hightail it outta here?"

"They could regroup," Michonne points out.

"She's right," I pipe up. "We should get 'em while they're still rattled. We won this fight, he'll be back to win the war."

"We can't take the chance, he's not gonna stop," Glenn adds.

"They're right," Carol agrees breathlessly. "We can't keep living like this."

"So we take the fight back to Woodbury?" Maggie questions dubiously. "We barely made it back last time."

"I don't care," Daryl declares.

"Last time we barely had any ammo and Glenn was hurt," I point out, attempting to soothe Maggie. 

"You were, too." Maggie reminds me, eyeing my neck pointedly. "You're both still healin'."

"We have a better chance now than we ever will again," I counter, self-consciously fingering the faded, yellow bruises on my skin. "He won't expect us so soon. He's rattled, won't be thinkin' clearly."

"Yeah…" Rick breathes, eyeing the group thoughtfully. "Let's check on the others."

We head inside, Hershel and the kids meeting us there. Safe and sound.

"Dad, I'm comin' to Woodbury," Carl announces.

"Carl," Rick sighs disparagingly.

"Dad, I did my job out there!" The boy insists. "Just like all of you. Took out one of the Governor's soldiers."

"One of his soldiers?" Hershel questions incredulously. "A kid runnin' away? He stumbled across us."

"No, he drew on us!" Carl argues.

"I'm sorry you had to do that," Rick says, clearly upset.

"It's what I was there for," Carl says nonchalantly. "I'm going with you. Adie, tell him."

"I… that's not my call, Carl," I point out, not sure when the hell he decided something like that was up to me. "That's up to your dad."

"I should've known you wouldn't be any help," Carl spits, glaring. "I'm  _ going. _ "

Having said his piece, the boy stalks off towards his cell, leaving Hershel, Rick, and I standing dumbfounded in his wake.

"That kid was scared," Hershel murmurs. "He was handin' his gun over."

"He said he drew," Rick says defensively, but Hershel's shaking his head. "Carl said it was in defense."

"I was there," Hershel is adamant. "He didn't have to shoot. He had every reason not to-"

"Maybe it looked like that to you, Hershel-" Rick interrupts, unable to accept this.

"Rick!" Hershel raises his voice. "I'm tellin' you… he gunned that kid down."

With that, Hershel walks away. Rick is stricken, turning to me, distress plain on his face.

"No. No, maybe, maybe-" He stammers.

"Hey," I say gently. "Hershel's not a liar. I know it's hard to accept, but Carl's been through so much, seen things,  _ done _ things he never… he's just a kid-"

"Carl said-" Rick begins to argue, indignant.

"Hey! He's not a bad kid and he's not a killer," I tell him emphatically, cutting him off before this gets out of hand. "He's just… growin' up not knowin' who the hell he can trust, and, and knowin' that trustin' the wrong people gets  _ our _ people killed. He was protectin' the group the only way he knows how. The only way he thinks he can."

Rick nods, somewhat mollified but still looking so damn distraught. I pull him into a hug and he starts to cry.

"This  _ isn't _ your fault, Rick," I soothe. "Talk to him. Help him figure it out. He's lucky to have a dad like you to show 'im the way."

I pull away, looking into his eyes. The man looks like he's about to crack completely, like one more blow might shatter him. He nods and squeezes my hand gratefully, heading off to his cell with the weight of the world on his shoulders. I find myself thinking of Dale. This group's broken, he said. Well, technically, I guess Daryl said it, but Dale  _ believed _ it. We're gonna prove him wrong. Right after we kill my father. We meet in the courtyard. We're going after the son of a bitch. Daryl on his bike, Michonne, Rick, and me in the truck. Carl's not going. He's not thrilled, but tough shit. Glenn and Maggie are gonna follow in the Hyundai. Or at least we thought.

"Rick, we're staying," Glenn announces. "We don't know where the Governor is. If he comes back, we'll hold him off."

"Jus' the four of us?" Daryl questions, eyeing Rick before nodding and slinging a gun over his shoulder. "All right."

"I appreciate you stayin'," Rick says.

"Rick, can I drive?" I ask on a whim, sure he'll ignore the request.

But he doesn't, just tosses me the keys and slides in beside Michonne. I get behind the wheel, stupidly excited over this small joy. I haven't gotten to drive since before the turn and I'm really starting to miss my little Subaru. I start up the truck and we're off, Daryl leading the way on his bike. Rick seems to be regretting his decision to let me drive, white knuckling the dash as the speedometer needle steadily climbs. We don't get too far down the road, though, before coming across what appears to be what's left of the Woodbury group that attacked us.

"Were you tryin' to send Rick into cardiac arrest?" Michonne murmurs as we slide out of the truck.

"Of course not," I mutter. "That truck's been beggin' to go faster than 45. I was just settin' a record."

"Mhmm," she grunts.

We join Rick and Daryl, surveying the carnage around us. Woodbury's army has been massacred, most dead but others... turned walker. What the hell happened here? The four of us take out the walkers, gazing upon the scene in confused horror. A few of these bodies are children, barely into their teen years. Before anyone can hazard a guess as to what the hell's going on, someone inside the abandoned vehicle Daryl's standing beside smacks their hands against the window, startling him. He ducks, Rick and I immediately training our guns on the lone survivor.

Daryl opens the door and she stumbles out, hands raised. None of these bodies belong to the Governor. He slaughtered them all, I realize. My father. He killed his own people. He has to be stopped. Karen, the Woodbury survivor, fills us in. Andrea had left the day before, made a run for the prison. She didn't make it, we would've seen her. She might be dead, but I just have a feeling… she's at Woodbury, she's gotta be. The Governor? No, I think he's long gone. He can't go back, explain away how he'd managed to lose an entire army and still walked away breathing.

But still, we have to keep going. We have to check, look for him. Make sure he's gone. Find out if Andrea's there. We wait until nightfall, approaching Woodbury under cover of darkness. We're several yards from the walls when they spot us, gunfire perforating the quiet. Daryl grabs my arm, pulling me down beside him as we all duck for shelter beside a totalled car just outside the gates.

"Tyreese!" Karen cries. "It's me, don't sh-"

"Get down!" Rick orders, yanking her back down before she gets herself shot.

"Karen!" A vaguely familiar male voice shouts. "Karen, are you okay?"

Tyreese… no way. But the world we live in now is too small for coincidences. I exchange a glance with Rick and I know he's thinking the same thing. The people we turned away ended up here. Of course they did.

"I'm fine!" Karen hollers, breaking free of Rick's grasp.

"Where's the Governor?" Tyreese demands.

"He fired on everyone," Karen informs him. "He killed them all."

"Why are you with  _ them? _ " Tyreese cries, appalled.

"They saved me!" Karen replies.

"We're comin' out!" Rick announces.

"We are?" I blurt, unable to help it, earning a glare from Rick.

"We're comin' out," he repeats pointedly, holstering his gun and raising his arms.

So we're coming out, each of us rounding the car and approaching the wall. I'm not ready to trust so easily, though, keeping my weapon raised. Daryl and Michonne do the same and I feel a small amount of comfort in that. The gates open to reveal Tyreese and Sasha, evidently having found their way here when Rick's episode drove them from our prison.

"What're you doin' here?" Tyreese questions softly.

"We were comin' to finish this," Rick says honestly, breathing heavily. "Until we saw what the Governor did."

"He… he killed them?" Tyreese asks, something in his tone not entirely surprised.

"Yeah," Rick confirms with a sorrowful nod. "Karen told us Andrea hopped the wall goin' for the prison. She never made it. She might be here."

Tyreese lets us in, following as Rick leads us all to the storage area my father had imprisoned Glenn, Maggie, and me in. My stomach lurches and I try not to think about what happened here, my hand flying to my still sore neck as though fresh bruises are blooming by sheer force of memory.

_ So beautiful. _

"This is where he had Adie, Glenn, and Maggie," Rick informs Tyreese as we make our way down the corridor.

_ My darling girl. _

"The Governor held people here?" Tyreese asks, horrified.

_ You have a choice. _

"He did more 'n hold 'em," Daryl says angrily, eyes burning.

_ Adie Bee... _

"I'm gonna be sick," I breathe, doubling over and placing my head between my knees.

"Rick, she shouldn't be here," Michonne says concernedly.

But the moment passes when a thump sounds from the other side of the door across the room from us, the room in which Maggie and I had spent hours listening to Merle beat the shit out of Glenn, where my father had... I straighten up, breathing heavily as I take in the puddle of blood seeping from beneath the door. It's fresh.

"Will you open it?" Michonne asks Rick.

Of course he will. Michonne readies her blade, Daryl and I flanking her with our guns raised, unsure what we'll see when that door opens.

"One… two…" Rick counts off, flinging the door open on three.

The scene unfolds before us. The room has been re-furnished, the wooden table and chairs removed and replaced with things far more sinister. A chair not unlike what you'd see in a dentist's office. A small, metal table with various, seemingly unrelated items adorning its shiny surface. Pliers, duct tape, the sharp curve of an upholstery needle, glinting in the lowlight. Thread. This is a torture chamber. Milton Mamet, turned walker, battered and lifeless on the ground. And across from him, slumped against the wall…

"Andrea!" Michonne chokes out, tossing her blade aside and dropping to her knees next to her.

"I tried to stop them," Andrea murmurs.

She's been beaten, bloodied… she's sick, clammy and pale. We've seen this before. The fever. She's dying. Jesus… I reach for Daryl. He flinches but allows me to take his arm, concerned eyes landing briefly on my face before flickering back to Andrea.

"You're burnin' up," Michonne breathes, all of us watching in horror as Andrea peels back her shirt to expose the bite on her shoulder.

"Judith, Carl, the rest of them…" she looks into Rick's eyes beseechingly.

" _ Us, _ " Rick whispers emphatically. "The rest of  _ us. _ "

Us. Andrea  _ was _ one of us, once upon a time.

"Are they alive?" She presses.

"Yeah," Rick assures her gently and she beams happily. I misjudged her. "They're alive."

"It's good you found them," she says sincerely, smiling at the now bawling Michonne. "No one can make it alone now," she adds, eyes lingering on my arm entwined with Daryl's.

"I never could," Daryl admits softly, looking her in the eye.

"I just didn't want anyone to die," she murmurs. "I can do it myself."

"No," Michonne protests, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Oh, I have to," Andrea insists. "While I still can."

Michonne nods, crumbling. Andrea turns her gaze to Rick.

"Please?" She questions imploringly, glancing at the gun in his hands. "I know how the safety works."

Rick places the weapon into her bloody hands.

"Well, I'm not goin' anywhere," Michonne states solemnly. 

"I tried," Andrea whispers, eyeing us each in turn.

"You chose your side," I breathe, holding her gaze.

She nods gratefully, understanding in her expression. She chose us. Just not in time to save herself.

"Yeah," Rick murmurs, squeezing her hand. "You did. You did."

He gets to his feet and he, Daryl, and I shuffle into the next room with Tyreese, offering privacy to Andrea and Michonne for her final moments. They were together, all the other had all those months after the farm. Michonne was all by herself before Andrea, and Andrea brought her back. I slide down against a wall, Rick opting to stay right next to the door. Daryl sinks to one knee beside me and we wait. A gunshot breaks the silence and I collapse into Daryl. He instinctively wraps one arm around me and I cry silently into his side while he wipes away his own tears, Michonne sobbing in the next room.

Andrea's gone.


	41. Stay

**Chapter 41**

*Daryl's POV*

Andrea's death rocked us all to our core. We gotta change. We have to honor her. Save the people she died trying to protect. It's that fact that spurred the decision to bring the survivors from Woodbury home with us. We can't make it alone anymore. We need people. We can only become stronger.

Adrienne's riding with me, slender arms wrapped around my waist as we approach Maggie and Glenn opening the gate. Our tiny group emerges from the prison, taking in our new guests as they exit the bus. Everyone seems to accept this with the exception of Carl, who angrily stalks back into the prison without acknowledging anybody. Can't say I blame the kid. He's scared. Adie is, too. She told me before we left. She's scared our newcomers will hate her for her ol' man's sins. For who she is. They ain't gonna. Hell, half of 'em seem to love her already.

"You think this'll work?" She murmurs, watching Carl disappear inside.

"Yeah," I tell her honestly. "Yeah, I do."

She takes my hand and, despite all the pain and the grief and the goddamn death, her skin against mine feels  _ right. _ She squeezes briefly, and I know she's about to let go. I don't want her to. She looks up in surprise when my grasp tightens, and for a moment I'm terrified I've done something wrong. Then she smiles, lacing her fingers through mine, and it  _ feels right.  _ We follow the Woodbury group into the prison together. This is gonna work.

*Adrienne's POV*

We're flourishing. Against all odds, we're flourishing. With the extra manpower from Woodbury and stragglers we've picked up over the months, we've made the prison safe again. A haven. We've fixed the fences and guard towers, secured the breaches in our walls, built an armory, a  _ library.  _ We're farming, we have running water. It's unbelievable. We have a council now. We vote. We take care of each other. Everyone pitches in. It feels too good to be true. The most surreal part is Daryl.

We spend as much time together as possible. He doesn't push me away, rarely flinches back when I touch him, sometimes even reaching for my hand first. When he's not hunting or scavenging, he's with me, watching my back, making sure I'm taken care of. I know he feels the loss of his brother every single day, but he's coming to terms with it. What Merle did… I wish I could thank him. He died to give Daryl a chance. It was the most selfless thing he'd ever done in the time I knew him.

Daryl's the backbone of our group. He's everyone's favorite despite his best efforts to keep them all at arm's length. Everyone from Woodbury  _ adores _ him, all the people he's brought home from runs love him, and he doesn't know what the hell to do with it. Walking around with him this morning, I can't help but be amused.

"Morning, Daryl," Caleb, our doctor, greets as he and I pass by on our way to Carol for breakfast. "Adie."

"'Sup, Dr. S?" Daryl replies, the two of us nodding in Caleb's direction.

A scattered chorus of  _ morning, Daryl's _ and  _ hey, Daryl's _ sound from the breakfast crowd as we reach Carol, who is slaving away over the makeshift griddle we'd put together in the middle of the courtyard.

"Smells good," Daryl remarks, plucking up a couple pieces of meat, offering one to me while he wolfs down the other.

"Just so you know," Carol begins, eyes twinkling. "I liked you first."

"Yeah, I gotta say, walkin' around with you's beginnin' to take a toll on my self esteem," I chuckle, chewing thoughtfully. "No good mornin' for Adrienne," I pout, earning a giggle from Carol.

"Stop," Daryl mutters, ears turning red as I lean in to give him a peck on the cheek.

Daryl's not much for public displays of affection. Hell, he's not much for  _ private _ displays of affection beyond hand holding and the occasional stolen kiss, but, god help me, sometimes I really can't resist. I'm only human, for Christ's sake.

"You know, Rick brought in a lot of 'em, too."

"Not recently," Carol points out. "Give the stranger sanctuary, keeping people fed, you're gonna have to learn to live with the love."

"Right," Daryl says, scoffing half-heartedly.

"I need you two to see something," Carol announces, turning to a bespectacled boy standing nearby. "Patrick, you wanna take over?"

"Yes, ma'am," Patrick says agreeably. "Uh, Mr. Dixon? I just wanted to thank you for bringing that deer back yesterday."

At this, Carol and I exchange a knowing glance. While Daryl's receiving the love he's going to have to learn to live with, I scoop a few more pieces of venison into a bowl and place it in his hands.

"It was a real treat, sir," Patrick continues. "And I'd be honored to shake your hand."

Daryl freezes momentarily, then makes a big production out of sucking his fingers clean before clasping a positively beaming Patrick's hand. I roll my eyes, smirking, and follow Carol. Daryl's right behind me as she leads us across the courtyard.

"Y'need to eat," Daryl commands, plucking a chunk of meat from the bowl and holding it in front of my face.

"Yes,  _ Mr. Dixon. _ " I smirk, watching his ears redden.

I lean forward and he pops the bite of meat into my mouth, Carol watching over her shoulder indulgently. She tells me he loves me whenever she gets the chance. When he's out on a hunt or late at night when he's retired to his own cell, just she and I sharing our thoughts on the events of the day before heading our separate ways. Sometimes I like to believe her, but part of me can't. I don't want to expect anything from him. I love him and he chooses to spend most of his free time with me. That's enough for me, more than I ever thought I'd have. I don't wanna push him.

"About today," Carol starts. "I don't know if we're gonna be able to spare a lotta people for the run."

"That place is good to go, we're gon' move on it," Daryl tells her, holding out another piece of meat for me. 

"Yeahhh…" she draws out skeptically. "Thing is, we had a pretty big build up overnight."

Chewing, I follow her gaze towards the outer fence, and she's not exaggerating. Clusters of walkers, at least several dozen, glomming onto the fence. The crew manning the perimeter is having a hell of a time keeping up with them.

"Christ…" I murmur, swallowing and exchanging a glance with Daryl.

"Dozens more towards tower three," Carol sighs. "It's getting as bad as last month. They don't spread out anymore."

"More of us sittin' here, we'll draw more of 'em out," Daryl observes. "Get enough of those damn fence clingers, they start to herd up."

"Pushin' against the fences again," Carol adds. "It's manageable, but unless we get ahead of it, not for long. Sorry, Pookie," she pouts playfully.

I snicker and Daryl scoffs, elbowing her gently in the arm. He touches my face, caressing my cheek with his thumb, before heading back to get ready for the run. I'll be damned.

"Tell me again how that man  _ isn't _ in love with you," Carol murmurs as I watch him stride across the courtyard, fingering the scorched skin his touch left over my cheek.

The moments he touches me are few and far between, and they always catch me off guard. He rarely initiates physical contact of any kind and never in front of anyone else. I smile stupidly and Carol laughs, pulling me into a side hug before we follow Daryl back to the courtyard. I meet him by the truck where he and Beth's boyfriend, Zach, are loading up essentials for the run. Gas, weapons, water, those weird protein bars Carol makes with rolled oats and witchcraft, et cetera. Beth approaches and Zach pulls her aside, evidently to say his farewell.

I catch Daryl's eyes and smirk, placing a couple canteens in the truck bed as Beth turns to leave. Heartbreaker, that one. Poor Zach. We'd picked him up nearly three months ago, he was with a small group of survivors from a veterinary school a ways away from here. He's a good kid, but Beth… well, she's a bit too smitten with Daryl to really give Zach a chance. I don't mind the crush so much. She's young, and crushes fade. I can hardly blame her. Look at the man, for Christ's sake. Oh, and there's the small, inconsequential fact that he's not mine. It's not my business who's looking.

"Okay, are you gonna say goodbye?" Zach questions, almost indignantly.

"Nope!" Beth counters, not breaking stride as she waltzes past him.

"It's like a damn romance novel," Daryl scoffs disparagingly.

"Oh, and you would know?" I cackle, bumping my shoulder into his.

"Adie, I need to talk to you," Beth announces, grabbing me by the elbow and dragging me away from Daryl before he can respond.

She's strong for such a little thing, and she manhandles my ass all the way to a secluded corner of the yard in no time flat, glaring suspiciously around the area.

"What's wrong?" I ask, concerned.

"Nothin'," she shakes her head adamantly, finally turning her gaze to me. "I just… I have a question, but… you have to  _ promise _ me you won't tell anyone."

"Can I get a hint before I agree not to say anything?" I hedge, eyeing her warily.

"I just…" she sighs, her brows furrowing in frustration. "I need guy advice, and before you ask,  _ no _ , I can't ask Maggie."

"Why not?"

"'Cause she'll tell Glenn and Glenn'll tell everyone else."

Yeah, that's fair.

"Okay, I promise," I concede. "What's up? Are you and Zach good?"

"No," she blurts, her cornflower eyes wide on mine. "I mean yes, but… I've been thinkin' and… where do you 'n Daryl go?"

"What, you mean on runs?" I ask, confused. "We're-"

"No, Adie, I mean…" she huffs in irritation, evidently not pleased with my inability to grasp what she's asking me. "Like, where do y'all go for  _ privacy? _ "

I just stare at her blankly. I'm sure my face is a giant question mark.

"Like, to do it," she blurts, eyes never leaving mine. "I think I'm ready, and I think I want Zach to be the first."

Oh, holy shit.

"Oh," I choke out, blushing. "Well, uh… we don't. We're not, he's not… uh…"

"You can tell me, Adie," she says insistently. "I'm not a baby. I'm 18, I know about sex."

"Me and Daryl haven't..." I mumble and trail off, feeling less and less like my nearly thirty years.

"Oh," she says, genuinely surprised. "Really? I thought… well, where would you go if you were goin' to?"

"Uh… I haven't really thought about it," I admit haltingly, which is a goddamn lie because I definitely have thought about it. "The library, maybe? Or, um… the generator room."

"Okay," she nods to herself, satisfied. "Okay, thanks Adie."

She whirls around, but I can't let her go just yet. Maggie'd kill me.

"Beth!"

She stops in her tracks, eyeing me curiously.

"Do you, um… do you love Zach?"

"Well, no," she shakes her head, a small grin tugging at the corners of her lips. "But I like him, and I think I could maybe love him one day. Anyway, things are different now. I used to think sex was somethin' I wanted to save for when I got married, but… I dunno if I get tomorrow, you know? I just wanna experience everythin' I can while I still have today."

I nod, sobered by her reasoning. She was just in high school when the world fell apart. There are so many things she didn't get to experience. Boys, graduation, the prom… she just wants to live while she's living.

"The generator room," I tell her decisively. "Further from the cells, so it's a little more private. Take somethin' to put down on the floor, there're condoms in the infirmary, but make  _ him _ go get 'em so if he's seen by anybody, you have plausible deniability. And, Beth… If you wanna stop, no matter when, no matter how far you've already gone, you tell him so, and if he gives you any shit… kick his teeth in."

"Thanks, Adie," she grins, heading back inside.

Oh, Hershel would have my head for this. I sprint back to the cars, Daryl eyeing me quizzically. He'd be mortified if he knew Beth thought we were having secret sex rendezvous all over the place. Hell, I'm a little mortified, myself. I shrug, snatching my pack from the ground and tossing it into the cab of the truck.

"Hey," Bob, a new guy Daryl brought in last week, greets. "Like to start pullin' my weight around here."

"Bob, it's only been a week," Sasha points out.

"That's a week worth of meals, a roof over my head," Bob retorts. "Lemme earn my keep."

"You were out on your own when Daryl found you," Sasha says heavily.

"That's right," Bob assents.

"I just wanna make sure you know how to play on a team," Sasha finishes.

"We ain't gonna do it unless it's easy," Daryl assures her.

"You know he was a medic in the army," Glenn pipes up, Sasha's eyes narrowing.

"You a helluva tough sell," Bob says with a smirk. "You know that?"

"The toughest," I agree with a chuckle, rubbing Sasha's back assuringly before hopping behind the wheel of the truck.

*Daryl's POV*

We're about ready, just pulling our small convoy up to the gates, when Michonne comes barrelling through on her horse, coming to a halt and dismounting to talk to Rick and Carl. It's damn good to see her. She's been out looking for the Governor since we took in Woodbury. Adie and I used to go out with her, but his trail went cold. Adie I think just accepted that if he comes back, he comes back. That we're better off helping fortify the prison than out chasing a ghost. She's right, but Michonne ain't ready to let go just yet.

"Well, well," I greet her, cutting the engine. "Look who's back."

"Didn't find him," she announces.

"Glad to see you're in one piece," I nod.

I spoke too soon. The truck door behind me opens and a blur of red curls hurtles past. Adie, hurling herself at Michonne. The two of 'em are close.

"You're back," Adie rejoices, arms like a vice grip around the other woman's body.

"I'm thinkin' of lookin' over near Macon," Michonne says, grin fading as the redhead releases her.

Rick, Adie, and I all exchange a look. That's a damn long way to go on less than a hunch.

"It's worth a shot," Michonne insists.

"70 miles of walkers," I point out. "You might run into a few unneighborly types. Is it?"

She can't answer. She knows it ain't. It ain't worth risking her life to find a sumbitch who might be dead anyway, for all we know. We need her here.

"I'm gon' go check out the Big Spot," I inform Rick. "The one I was talkin' about? Jus' seein'."

Rick sees it for what it is. An invitation. He ain't been on a run in a long time. We could use him out there, and the longer he avoids going out, the softer he's gonna get. Adie damn near had a fucking stroke when she found out he'd been checking the snares without his gun. We spent the majority of our last council meeting with her in a state, hollering that if he ain't gonna take his gun, he ain't leaving the cell block. Hershel's gonna talk to him. He should make it soon. Adie's likely to lock Rick's ass in a cell if he don't.

"Yeah, I gotta go out and check the snares," Rick nods. "I don't wanna lose whatever we catch to the walkers."

"I'll go," Michonne volunteers.

"You just got here!" Carl protests.

"And I'll be back," Michonne promises.

Carl don't look convinced, watching sadly as Michonne climbs into the Hyundai.

"I'll drag her home by the toes if she looks like she's thinkin' about leavin'," Adie assures him, hopping back behind the wheel of the truck.

I'd like to see that fight. I give Rick a farewell clap to the gut, revving my engine as Adie starts up the truck.

*Adrienne's POV*

Michonne's coming with us. It's damn good to have her back, and we could use the extra hands. No one on the coal crew is going, we need 'em all on hand to clear the walkers from the fence, so we're six people shorter than we'd planned for. Daryl's leading the way on his bike, Glenn behind him in the Hyundai with Sasha, Michonne, and Bob. I'm bringing up the rear with Zach and Tyreese.

"So, Adie," Zach says conversationally the second we're clear of the gates. "You and Daryl are close."

Oh, my god, not him, too.

"We're friends," I agree, eyeing the kid suspiciously.

"Friends," Ty snorts. "Right."

"We are!" I insist, returning my eyes to the road.

"Hey, I'm not questioning that," Zach assures me. "I'm just saying… you seem close. Like maybe he tells you things. Now, I've been guessin' at what he did before the turn, right? I'm thinkin' maybe you could help me out. You know, gimme a hint for my next guess."

"Ah, but where's the fun in that?" I chuckle.

"C'mon," he wheadles. "At least tell me if I'm close?"

"Alright," I relent. "Shoot."

"Park ranger."

"No."

"Security guard."

"Nope."

"Damn," he curses. "Butcher?"

"Not even close," I laugh.

On and on it goes. Parole officer, bouncer, am I sure I'm not lying about him being a park ranger, 'cause he really thought he had it that time.

"Okay," I say finally, wiping away a tear that had escaped during the hysterical cackling brought on by the idea of Daryl selling used cars. "Okay, I'll tell you."

"Really?" He asks, a hopeful gleam in his eyes.

"He was an athlete," I tell him gravely. "Pro ultimate frisbee. He could chuck a disc so damn far-"

"Adie!" Zach protests, Ty's deep, booming laugh interrupting the bullshit web I'm attempting to weave. "You were never gonna tell me, were you?"

"It's the truth!" I insist. "How do you think he got those arms?"

"Yeah, okay," Zach mutters, the grin on his face foiling any attempt at feigning upset.

We fall into companionable silence and, before too much longer, we've reached our destination. The Big Spot. This place could be a goddamn gold mine if it hasn't been looted yet.

"Army came in n' put these fences up," Daryl announces. "Made it a place for the people to go. Last week when we spotted this place, there was a buncha walkers behind this chain link keepin' people out like a buncha guard dogs."

"So they all just left?" Bob questions.

"Give a listen," Sasha points out, the music we'd set up miles away still blaring. 

It's faint here, but believe me, up close? My ears just recovered. They'd been ringing for hours after we'd set up the walker lure, but it was worth it. Not a walker in sight of this place.

"You drew 'em out," Michonne says, impressed.

"Put a boombox out there three days ago," Sasha confirms.

"Hooked it up to two car batteries," Glenn adds, nudging me. "Adie thought of it."

"Of course she did," Michonne chuckles.

"Why's that funny?" I question, bristling.

"Obnoxious noises are kinda your thing," Glenn teases, earning full fledged laughs from Michonne and Sasha.

"Sh-" I start, but Daryl intervenes before I can defend myself.

"All right, let's make a sweep," he orders, heading inside through the hole we'd cut in the chain link. "Make sure it's safe, grab what you can. We'll come back tomorrow with more people."

We weave somberly through the parking lot graveyard, passing bodies long since decayed, skin shrunken tight to bone in the hot Georgia sun.

"Come on," Daryl urges gently, keeping us all in line.

We reach the storefront and Daryl presses his back against the window, rapping sharply against the glass with his elbow.

"Just give it a second," he instructs.

I lean up against the window beside him, eyes dropping to the frayed edges of a few new holes in the knees of his jeans.

"I can sew more patches in tonight, if you want," I offer, toying with the end of a loose thread.

Daryl grunts in what I think is agreement. His grunts of disapproval are generally accompanied by a look of disgust. He's staring at my fingers, uncharacteristically preoccupied, and I can't be sure he's agreed based upon the grunt alone, so I suppose I'll know if his pants inexplicably show up in my cell some time tonight.

"Okay, I think I got it," Zach blurts.

"Got what?" Michonne questions.

"Oh, I've been tryin' to guess what Daryl did before the turn," Zach tells her.

"I already told you, he played ultimate Frisbee," I point out solemnly. "Lived and breathed for the sport. He was about to sign a sponsorship deal with Nike. That's the big leagues, right there."

Daryl eyes me half amused, half wary while Michonne snickers. The truth is, I have no idea what he was before. I kinda suspect he didn't work, just roamed around from place to place with Merle. Survived in much the same way we are now. That's The only reason I can figure he'd drag this whole guessing game out.

"He's been tryna guess for, like, six weeks," Daryl explains to Michonne.

"Yeah, I'm pacin' myself," Zach says defensively. "One shot a day."

"Pacin' yourself?" I demand teasingly, arching an eyebrow. "That's what you're callin' the harassment I endured from you all the way over here?"

"Can't blame me for tryin'," he shrugs.

"All right, shoot," Daryl concedes.

"Well, the way you are at the prison, you know, you bein' on the council, you're able to track, you're helpin' people," Zach lists, eyeing Daryl. "But you're still being kind of uh… surly."

_ Surly. _ I snort at the word choice, Michonne and I exchanging a glance.

"Big swing here," Zach says confidently. "Homicide cop."

"What's so funny?" Daryl demands, unable to help the smirk on his own face when Michonne collapses into a fit of giggles.

"Nothin'," she chuckles, gathering herself. "It makes perfect sense."

"Makes more sense than a used car salesman," I point out, earning a half-hearted glare from Zach.

"Actually," Daryl says, eyes glimmering with amusement. "The man's right. Undercover."

"Come on, really?" Zach asks, hopeful but still unsure whether or not Daryl's just yanking his chain.

"Yep," Daryl replies, dead serious. "I mean, I don't like to talk about it 'cause… it was a lot of heavy shit, you know?"

I'm impressed. His poker face is impeccable and it takes all I have in me not to laugh. Zach looks at me pleadingly and I nod, holding it together.

"Come on, really?" Zach repeats, unable to believe he'd finally guessed correctly.

Daryl just eyes him, his face almost cracking. Then he disguises a laugh by clearing his throat and the jig is up.

"Okay," Zach nods. "I'll just keep guessin', I guess."

"Yeah, you keep doin' that," Daryl tells him.

"Mhmm," Zach grunts just as a couple walkers inside fling themselves against the windows. It's time.

"We gonna do this, detective?" Michonne inquires, smirking.

"Let's do it," Daryl confirms, all business now, as we head to the automatic doors.

Daryl and Sasha flank the opening, Glenn at Daryl's back and I at Sasha's as we lure the small group of walkers out one by one, quickly dispatching them.

"All right," Sasha says as the last walker falls. "We go in, stay in formation for the sweep. After that, you all know what you're supposed to look for. Any questions?"

"Was there ever a time that you weren't the boss of me?" Ty demands.

"You had a few years before I was born," Sasha counters with a smile.

With that, we're in. It's clear, but we know we can't be completely at ease. You never know for sure. We spread out, each pushing carts to different sections of the store. We don't have a ton of room, so we hit only the essentials first. Batteries, food, and first aid receive top priority. Things are going well until an ungodly racket sounds from a few aisles over.

A section of shelves has collapsed over Bob, several dozen bottles of cheap wine shattered on the floor. I crouch down on one side of the mess, peering at Bob just as Daryl's flashlight beams from the other side, searing my retinas. I get back to my feet, coming around to Daryl's side.

"You all right?" Daryl questions Bob concernedly. "You cut or somethin'?"

"No, man, but uh, my, my foot is caught," Bob replies.

"All right, he's just caught," Daryl says, straightening. "C'mon, help me up."

"What happened?" Glenn hollers from elsewhere in the store.

"Everyone's all right!" Zach shouts as he, Daryl, Ty, and me lift the shelf. "We're over in wine and beer."

"What happened?" I question softly, eyeing Bob.

"I was movin' fast, man," he shrugs nervously, laughing it off. "I drove right into the drinks."

"Man, you lucked out," Ty says, crouching beside Bob to assist. "If this thing had come down on you the wrong way…"

He doesn't get the chance to finish his thought before the ceiling breaks open, a walker falling through and dangling by its entrails like a macabre chandelier.

"Yeah, uh, we should probably go now," Glenn states matter of factly.

"Bob's still stuck, get 'im outta there!" Daryl commands.

"We'll get the others," Michonne says just as another walker falls through a different part of the ceiling.

Then it's raining corpses, the ceiling collapsing in several places as walkers hit the ground and begin to swarm. Gunshots ring out as we realize we're outnumbered, unable to use quieter methods to take them down.

"Hey!" Bob shrieks, still pinned beneath the shelf.

"Adie!" Daryl cries.

He catches my eye, nodding meaningfully at the display of boxed IPAs. I dip my head and flatten my back against the liquor shelf behind me, covering Daryl while he climbs onto the display. The sickening shriek of metal on metal pierces the air and my eyes snap to the largest hole in the ceiling and I see it. A fucking  _ helicopter, _ slowly sinking through the crumbling ceiling.

"Daryl!" I holler and he looks up in alarm, spotting the aircraft as Glenn tears towards us.

"Daryl, Adie, go!" He yells.

That's cute. Like hell we're leaving him. Daryl climbs down from the beer display, bludgeoning two walkers with the end of his crossbow. I grab hold of the walker descending upon Bob, yanking it by the ankles from beneath the shelf, and Daryl brings his foot down, crushing its skull. Zach lifts the shelf and Daryl is able to pull Bob out. Finally. We can leave now, and not a moment too soon. The chopper is gonna bring the entire ceiling down on us. Just when I think we're all gonna make it out of here, Zach starts to scream.

A walker on the other side of the shelf has bitten him in the leg, is now yanking him underneath the shelf and sinking its teeth into his neck. I tear towards him, but it's too late. Daryl grabs hold of me. We can't stay here.

"Go!" He orders, holding tight to my hand, all of us sprinting for the exit as the roof caves in, the helicopter coming down with it.

*Daryl's POV*

The run was supposed to be simple. In and out, get the essentials and get gone. Adrienne's in a state. We're back, just after nightfall. She went straight inside and down to the gyms. My initial instinct is to follow her, but someone's gotta tell Beth what happened today and it's gotta be me. I was in charge. I should have thought to check the fucking roof.

"Hey," Beth greets me as I step into her doorway.

She's lying in her bunk on her belly, scribbling away in that little green journal she keeps with her. She just had her eighteenth birthday, or as close as we can figure, anyway, not knowing exactly what day it is, but she still looks so damn young. Maybe I'm just old. Maybe it's the way she's decked out her cell. She's filled it with all this random shit we've picked up for her here and there. A rusty old birdcage, a small wooden chair, a reading lamp. Adie found this truly fucking ugly garden gnome on our last big run and brought it home for her. Said Beth would love it, and she does.

"Hi," I reply, searching for words but coming up empty.

"What is it?" She questions, face falling like she already knows.

"Zach," I tell her with a heavy sigh.

"Is he dead?" She asks, her voice remarkably calm.

If someone came home from a run and told me Adrienne was... and we ain't even dating. I'd lose my mind. Yet Beth is hardly fazed, or if she is she ain't letting it on. I don't have words, so I simply dip my head to confirm. Yes, he's dead. Yes, it's my fault.

"Okay," she says, slipping off her bunk and crossing towards the workplace safety sign she's been keeping on top of a little blue shelf across from her bed.

One of them congratulations, you've made it this many days without any fuck ups signs. Thirty days. We'd made it a month. Just one month without a death. She changes the number to zero while I watch, waiting for her to yell at me or need some kind of comfort even though I ain't even a little bit qualified.

"What?" She asks, catching me staring.

I shake my head, shrugging. What does she mean, what? She a robot or something?

"I don't cry anymore, Daryl," she explains matter of factly. "I'm just… glad I got to know him, you know?"

"Me too," I tell her honestly.

"Are you okay?" She asks, suddenly concerned by my tone.

"Just tired of losin' people, that's all," I sigh.

Then she surprises me, lurching forward and wrapping her tiny arms around my waist. For a second, I was sure she was gonna hit me.

"I'm glad I didn't say goodbye," she admits, her head against my chest. "I hate goodbyes."

"Me too."

And I do. Goodbyes are permanent these days. She releases me and I leave her to her thoughts, heading to my own cell. I moved into the cell that used to be T-Dog's the day we brought in the Woodbury survivors. I ain't never gonna admit it out loud, but it was to be closer to Adie. I just didn't want no one else that close to her. I wanted to protect her, that's all. I'm about to draw the curtain, which is really just a faded floral bed sheet pretending to offer some kind of privacy, on my cell when I hear the sniffling one cell over. Before I realize I've even made up my mind, I'm peeling back the dark purple -she'd called it _fetching-est_ _eggplant_ in that ridiculous British accent she does- shower curtain she'd hung in her doorway and ducking inside her cell.

Adie's cell ain't nearly as decorated as Beth's. She's got a nightstand with nothing on it but a single candle, which she ain't bothered to light tonight, but when she does it smells like what I think Christmas might've been like for normal kids. She keeps a sewing kit and scraps of fabric in the drawer, and when people got shit needs mending, they come to her. There's a coat rack, one of them tall stand kinds, in the far left corner, and a black milk crate beside that with her clothes neatly folded inside. Beth offered to make it a little more  _ 'homey' _ and added a welcome mat just inside her doorway, which Carl modified to say  _ 'Welcome to the Thunderdome' _ in black Sharpie. Adie loves it.

"Hey," I whisper.

She's curled in on herself on her bed, quiet sobs wracking her body. Guilt claws at my insides. My fault.

"Hey," she echoes hoarsely, scooting over and patting the spot beside her.

I hesitate, not sure if she's asking me to sit or not, then sink onto her bunk, back against the wall with my legs outstretched beside her. I lean my crossbow against the nightstand, within arms reach if I need it. Immediately she curls into me, resting her head in my lap and clasping one of my hands in both of hers. It feels right. Even in the mostly dark, I can see the blood on her knuckles. I don't need to ask why. A lot of the gym equipment is still in good condition. When she's hurt or angry or sad, she favors the punching bag that still hangs from a chain hooked over the rafters. The day the Governor's trail went cold, the day we decided it ain't worth looking anymore… Jesus, I was sure she'd broken the bones in her hands.

"You all right?" I murmur.

"Just tired of losin' people," she whispers, an echo of my own words to Beth. "How'd she take it?"

"She's... okay," I mutter, not sure if okay is the right word. "Says she don't cry anymore."

She nods, pressing my hand to her lips, her tears wetting the back of my palm. God damn it, this is my fault. Her pain, Zach dying… it's my fault and all I can do is sit here with my stupid fucking hands and my stupid body and my stupid brain, because, even though I know the motions, I can't comfort her. I can't rub her back or run my fingers through her hair or pull her into my chest and press my lips to hers, because I suck at it. And she's still clinging to my hand like I'm her lifeline, like I can save her.

She remains silent, her breath evening as she falls asleep. I love that about her, she don't feel the need to force words where there ain't none like a lot of people do. I've relaxed beneath her, toying with a piece of her hair. I ain't never been this close to a girl. Or anyone, except in a fight maybe, but that ain't this. Never wanted to, not really. I mean, I'd spent plenty of time in the bathroom with Merle's stash of Victoria's Secret catalogs...

God, even  _ thinking _ about that, I can feel my ears turn hot. I always felt dirty after. Like it was wrong. But I'd always done it again. I guess it's natural, right? Healthy. Weirder not to. But that's the thing, I ain't never been able to go there with a person. Lately I've found myself thinking about it, though. What it would be like to be that close, that vulnerable. To have my hands tangled in her hair, or feel those fucking impossibly long legs wrapped around my waist... Christ, what the fuck is wrong with me? This is the last thing I should be thinking about. And the idea of sex still scares the shit outta me.

Merle constantly gave me shit for it.  _ 'Darylina' _ , he used to call me. On more than one occasion he'd wondered out loud if I was  _ 'one of them fudge packin' homos.' _ I don't think he really thought I was, he'd've beat my ass over that shit. He was just like our old man that way. Hell, he was like him in a lot of ways. Intolerant. Mean sometimes. A lot of times.

Still, he'd slip me the occasional nudie mag. A Playboy or Hustler. I'd pretend to be interested to get him off my back, and he seemed satisfied enough with that. The women in them magazines though, they didn't interest me. Merle used to roll with girls who looked like that, all tan and shiny looking. Used 'em. Said I was gonna die a virgin, like that was the most shameful goddamn thing in the fucking world.

Used to give me shit about Adie, too. He caught me looking at her one time at the quarry camp outside Atlanta, just once. Made some shithead comment about finding out if the carpet matches the drapes. It ain't like that, though. I was looking because there just… there was just something about the way the light touched her face that morning, like she was glowing, and the way she sparkled -yes, fucking sparkled- talking to Carl... she's fucking  _ beautiful _ . Anyone can see that much just in passing -and they  _ do  _ see it, she's got half the men around here in some kind of state and a few of the women, too- but who she is? That's what I saw for the first time that day.

She don't look as strong as she is, I've decided. She's one of them girls who looks like she's dancing when she walks, when she fights. Long and slender and so fucking fragile I'm scared I might shatter her bumping into her a little too hard. She looks delicate, but she ain't and she'll fight you to prove it. She's out like a light, her chest rising and falling in time with her slow, steady breaths, and something about the curve of her hip beneath the thin, knit blanket… nope. No, that ain't for me to look at. She's sleeping, what the fuck is wrong me?

I glare up at the bottom of the top bunk and, with a reluctant sigh, attempt to ease myself from beneath her, but she stirs, her eyes fluttering open in sleepy confusion. She looks up at me, right into my goddamn soul.

"Stay," she breathes, and I'm helpless. "Please."


	42. Death Row

**Chapter 42**

*Adrienne's POV*

I'm cruelly torn from the deepest sleep I've had since I don't know when by gunfire. A whole fucking lot of it. My head snaps up, my wide, fearful eyes meeting Daryl's instantly. He stayed. Daryl's in my bed. With me.  _ Daryl fucking Dixon is in my bed! _ He  _ stayed! _ I'm stupidly giddy for about a fraction of a second before I leap from my bunk, Daryl right behind me. He snatches his crossbow from my nightstand as I pull my gun from the holster that hangs from the top bunk of my bed, exchanging a worried glance with him as the gunfire continues, the screams of our people echoing through the building. But it's not in our block. The screams are coming from elsewhere inside, one of the other blocks. We tear out into the courtyard, Sasha and Ty on our heels.

"Walkers in D!" Glenn cries.

"What about C?" Rick questions.

"Clear!" I shout.

"We locked the gates to the tombs," Sasha informs him. "Hershel's on guard!"

"It ain't a breach!" Daryl hollers, and then it clicks.

This didn't come from outside our walls. We've secured every crack, every tiny opening. There are no breaches. Nothing gets in this place without our knowledge and say so.

"We followed the plan!" Sasha adds, all of us sprinting towards cell block D.

It's chaos. These walkers… these are all people we knew, people living here. How did this happen?  _ When  _ did this happen? I hurtle through the cell block, taking out a walker and checking our people for bites, locking them in cells once I've made sure they're clean.

"Check all of 'em!" Rick hollers. "Every cell!"

I hurl myself towards the stairs, propelling myself up two at a time with Rick right behind me. Daryl and Glenn are already here, and I'm flooded with relief to see them both in one piece.

Then a walker lunges at me from inside one of the cells.

"Get down!" Daryl roars, and I drop to the floor, shielding my face with my arms just as his arrow pierces clean through its brain.

The walker falls on top of me and I push it over, Daryl reaching my side and pulling me up.

"Thank you," I breathe softly, gaze dropping to the walker on the floor.

Oh, god. It's…

"Oh, it's Patrick," Daryl mutters solemnly, looking at the boy.

I drop to my knees beside Patrick's body, looking away and, as gently as I can, pull the arrow from his head. I clean it off on my shirt and pass it to Daryl, straightening. We can't waste those.

"That's all of 'em," he observes, eyeing the bodies below.

Our friends… how did this happen? I follow Rick and Daryl numbly through the block, plunging my knife into the brains of our dead to ensure they don't come back. That's the pact. We never let our own turn. It had been a slaughter.

"No bites," Rick announces, Dr. S. and Hershel examining one of the bodies. "No wounds. I think he just died."

Charlie had been locked in his cell, and still he turned. How? That's the question of the hour.  _ How? _

"Horribly, too," Dr. S. confirms. "Pleurisy aspiration."

"Choked to death on his own blood," Hershel explains. "Caused those trails down his face."

"I've seen 'em before," Rick says. "On a walker outside the fences."

"They were on Patrick, too," I add quietly, tears trailing down my cheeks.

"They're from the internal lung pressure building up, like if you shake a soda can and pop the top," Dr. S. explains in horrid detail. "Only imagine your eyes, ears, nose, and throat are the top."

"Jesus…" I breathe. "They  _ drowned _ in their own blood."

"It's a sickness… from the walkers?" Bob questions.

"No, these things happened before they were around," Dr. S. points out. "Could be pneumococcal. Most likely an aggressive flu strain."

"Someone locked him in just in time," Hershel observes.

"No, man," Daryl shakes his head. "Charlie used to sleepwalk. Locked himself in. Hell, he was just eatin' barbeque yesterday. How could somebody die in a day just from a cold?"

"I had a sick pig, died quick," Rick informs us. "Saw a sick boar in the woods."

"Pigs and birds, that's how these things spread in the past," Hershel says. "We need to do something about those hogs."

"Maybe we got lucky," Dr. S. suggests hopefully. "Maybe these two cases are it."

"Haven't seen anybody be lucky in a long time," Bob points out. "Bugs like to run through close quarters. Doesn't get any closer than this."

"We've all been exposed," I state, stricken.

"Council meeting," Hershel orders. "Now."

Rick heads outside to let Carl and Maggie know what's happened in here. The rest of us head to the library, which we've been using for meetings. I fall heavily onto a seat between Daryl and Carol.

"Patrick was fine yesterday," Carol says bluntly. "And he died overnight. Two people died that quick? We'll have to separate everyone that's been exposed."

"That's everyone in that cell block," Daryl points out. "That's all of us, maybe more."

"We know that this sickness can be lethal," Hershel soothes. "We don't know how easily it spreads. Is anyone else showing symptoms that we know of?"

"We can't just wait and see," Carol says indignantly. "There's children. It isn't just the illness…" she trails off.

"People get sick, they die… they become a threat," I finish for her. "They kill."

"We need a place for them to go," Hershel says. "They can't stay in D. We can't risk going in there to clean it up."

"What about… what about A?" I question hesitantly, knowing full well why that block is empty.

Cell block A was, once upon a time, Death Row. Still, it's the only place we can relocate an entire cell block. E isn't usable, leaving them in D is obviously out of the question, and we can't risk spreading the sickness to our people in blocks B and C. It's our only option.

"We could use A," Carol nods.

"Death Row?" Glenn demands, horrified. "I'm not sure that's much of an upgrade."

"It's clean," Daryl points out. "That's an upgrade. Think that'll work for Dr. S.?"

"I'll help Caleb get it set up," Hershel agrees.

Before anything else can be determined, someone's coughing in the hallway. Oh, no. Daryl's up instantly, followed by Carol. I can't look. I don't want to see a living ghost. I don't want to know.

"You okay?" Ty's voice floats into the room from just beyond the door.

So much for not knowing. Karen. Ty's girlfriend. I follow the rest of the group into the corridor.

"You sure?" Carol asks, stepping into the hallway. "You don't sound so good."

"We're just takin' her back to my cell so she can rest," Ty says reassuringly.

"Tyreese, I don't think that's a good idea," Hershel says woefully.

"Why?" Karen demands wearily. "What's goin' on now?"

"We think it's a flu or something," Glenn says when no one else answers her. "That's how Patrick died."

"Judith is in that cell block," Hershel says imploringly, approaching Karen. "She's vulnerable. Anyone that may be sick or even exposed should stay away."

"It, it killed Patrick?" Karen asks, confusion contorting her features.

"She's gonna be okay," Ty says, worry blooming on his face. "Now that we know what Patrick died from we can treat it, right?"

"Don't panic," Hershel soothes. "We're going to figure this out. But we should keep you separated in the meantime. We'll have Caleb take a look at you, I'll see what we have in the way of medications."

"David from the Decatur group, he's been coughing, too," Karen announces.

"Okay, I'll, I'll get him," Glenn volunteers with a heavy sigh. "There's some uh, empty clean cells in the tombs, right?"

The tombs. Solitary confinement. God, that's worse than Death Row.

"Yeah, we'll meet you there," Sasha confirms.

"Okay," Glenn agrees, and he's off to fetch David.

"Come on," Sasha says gently, approaching Karen. "Let's get you settled."

"Have to call another meeting later," Hershel says, watching Karen, Sasha, and Ty disappear down the hallway.

"All right," Daryl nods, slinging his crossbow over his shoulder. "I'll get to buryin' the dead ones."

"I'll help," I volunteer, Daryl catching my eye and nodding his assent.

"You wear gloves and a mask," Hershel instructs gravely, eyes flickering between the two of us.

"Uh-huh," Daryl nods unconvincingly.

"We will," I assure Hershel, who heads off towards the tombs.

"You all right?" Daryl questions, eyes on Carol.

She hasn't moved.

"I'm worried about Lizzie and Mica," she says, anxious about two of the little girls who live here. 

Ryan, their dad, was bitten in the neck. Carol had to put him down.

"They were around Patrick."

"We all were," Daryl points out, nodding. "Karen n' David are gon' be separated til they feel better."

"You're right," Carol nods. "Are you okay?"

"Mhmm," Daryl grunts, chewing his lip. "Gotta be."

He walks off and I squeeze Carol's hand before following him out to the courtyard.

"Rick's got gloves in the shed," I point out. "I'll grab 'em."

He nods and we separate. Daryl's got riding gloves on the bike, but I have no such luxury. I head over towards the large shed we'd built near Rick's garden boxes, in which he stores his seeds and gloves and other various farming equipment, plucking two gloves from a box sitting atop the workbench. They're mismatched and floral patterned, but they'll do.

"Gon' use these for masks," Daryl says from behind me, and I turn to find him holding up two bandanas.

"Turn around," he instructs.

I turn and he ties the green one around my head, covering my nose and mouth, careful not to pull too tight or catch my hair in the knot. He ties his own while I pull on my horrendously girly gloves, and we're ready. The two of us set to work silently, respectfully, moving the dead to the yard and wrapping them. And we dig. At one point, Daryl suggests I take a break. That he's got this. I glare and keep digging. He understands. So we dig. We dig for what seems like hours, our muscles screaming, sweat drenching our skin. Twelve. A dozen of our people gone, just like that.

"Glad you were in there," Daryl says breathlessly, glancing up as Rick approaches.

"Wasn't much use without my gun," Rick points out.

"No, you were," Daryl counters, pulling his bandana down from his mouth to rest under his chin. "All this time you been takin' off? You earned it."

I nod in agreement, continuing to shovel. Rigorous physical exertion does wonders for grief. My hands are cursing me, the skin pulled tight over my knuckles, scabs from last night reopening, blood seeping through my gloves. When we got back from the run, we didn't have a body to bury. We couldn't get to Zach before the helicopter came down, we had to leave him. I couldn't handle it, I was so  _ angry, _ I just needed to get it out of me, destroy something. So I beat the shit outta the punching bag in the gym. It helped, a little. I'm angry now, so angry it feels like my bones are trying to escape my skin. So I dig. Just dig. Don't think about anything else. Just. Dig.

"We wouldn't be here without you," Daryl continues.

"Nah, it was all of us," Rick disagrees, grabbing a shovel.

"Nah," Daryl says. "It was you first. So, you gonna help us figure this out?"

"I, I screwed up too many times," Rick laments. "Those calls you gotta make, I start down that road… I almost lost my boy. Who he was."

Daryl nods, turning away. I remain silent. Rick belongs in a leadership position. He can't be the only one in charge, but he should be on the council. I know that. Daryl knows that. But with Rick it's all or nothing. He doesn't know how to do grey. But he has to learn. We're here to help him, but he's gotta be here for us, too. We can't fight this battle without him.

"Whatever else this place needs, I'm here for it," Rick says desperately.

"Like I said, you earned it," Daryl tells him. "But for what it's worth, you see mistakes? I see when the shit hits, you're standin' there with the shovel."

Before Rick can respond to that, Maggie's voice cuts across the yard.

"Rick! Daryl!" She shrieks, running towards us as Daryl grabs my hand, pulling me from the hole I'd been digging. "Adie!"

She motions us over, and I see the problem.

"Oh, shit," Rick hisses, breaking into a run towards a section of the outer fence that's starting to give way under the weight of a couple dozen walkers.

Daryl and I follow, the three of us grabbing pokers from off the fence as we pass.

"The noise drew 'em out and now this part's startin' to give!" Maggie cries frantically when we reach her.

More walkers are gathering, morphing together into a sea of gnashing teeth and clawing hands. Several of our group are out here and we line up along the fence, stabbing through the walkers as they come but there's just too many.

"Are you seein' this?" Sasha shouts, horrified.

I follow her gaze and spot them. Rats, mangled and broken on the ground beside the fence. Christ…

"Someone's feedin' 'em?" I snarl, plunging my poker into another walker as the fence caves in the middle. "Jesus!" I snarl, Daryl's eyes snapping to my face.

"Heads up!" He shouts, almost instantly at my side.

"This part of the fence, now!" Maggie orders.

"It's gonna give!" I cry, pushing back against the herd with every bit of strength I can muster.

It's no use. We're outnumbered. This fence is coming down.

"Everybody back!" Daryl roars. "Come on, back, now!"

We flatten ourselves against the inner fence behind us, staring as our outer fence continues to bow.

"Fence keeps bending in like that, those walkers are comin' over it!" Sasha shouts.

"We need to draw 'em away," I bark, watching with frantic eyes as the walkers, propelled forward by mindless instinct, begin to climb over each other, moving further up the fence.

"Daryl, get the truck," Rick orders. "I know what to do."

Daryl nods, running for the Jeep with the flatbed trailer attached.

"Adie, I need you, come on," Rick commands, pulling me by the arm towards the pig pen.

Daryl pulls up with the Jeep and together the three of us move the piglets into a large crate on the flatbed attached to the hitch. Daryl takes the wheel as Rick and I hop onto the trailer beside the box. Maggie opens the gate for us and Daryl floors it.

"Ready?" He hollers over his shoulder, coming to a stop a few yards from the herd at the fence.

They're drawn by the noise, the movement. We're sitting ducks. Rick's not moving.

"Let's go!" Daryl snarls, eyes on the walkers shambling towards us.

"Can you do this?" I question, eyeing Rick's distressed face. "Rick?"

He doesn't answer, just pulls a squealing pig from the crate.

"Do it," he cries.

I steel myself, swallowing back my own tears and slicing through the squirming pig's femoral artery. Blood soaks us both, hot and sticky and nauseating. Rick tosses her off the back of the trailer, and she's immediately set upon by a cluster of walkers, her horrified squeals coming to an abrupt end.

"Go!" He shouts, and Daryl tears across the field several more yards, walkers still feverishly stumbling after us. "All right, hold up!"

Daryl brings the truck to a stop once more and we repeat the process, sacrificing another pig to the walkers, leading them away from the fence while Sasha, Maggie, Ty, and Glenn reinforce it.

"All right, go! Go!" Rick orders tearfully.

My heart shatters. Rick loved these animals. But he loves his people more, and this is what we have to do to protect them. So we repeat the process. Once. Twice. Three more times. Rick collapses onto the flatbed and sobs. I sink down beside him, sheathing my knife and cradling him in my arms as Daryl pulls around, doubling back towards safety. Before the vehicle is fully stopped, Rick flings himself from it. Daryl parks and comes to help me out of the truck, not hesitating to pull me into his arms despite the blood. He holds me briefly while I cry, then pulls back.

"You all right?" He asks softly, the two of us watching Rick angrily dismantle the pigpen.

"The squealin'," I murmur, wiping my nose with the back of my hand. "It's like they were screamin', like they were…"

I trail off, at a loss. They were terrified. I feel inhuman.

"He let Carl name 'em," I sigh heavily, tears flowing freely down my bloodied face.

He nods, understanding. You name an animal, you get attached. These pigs, they were gonna be food, but not for a while yet. We just cruelly slaughtered the closest thing we've had to pets since before the turn.

"You did what you had to," he soothes.

"I have to get this off," I mutter, staring at my blood soaked t-shirt.

"Gotta stay outta C block," he reminds me.

"Right," I sigh, slumping down onto the flatbed.

Before either of us can say another word, Ty bursts into the courtyard, barreling towards Rick. The look on his face… something's up and it's not good. My thoughts are confirmed when Rick drops what he's doing with the pen, alarmed, and follows Ty back inside. I exchange a glance with Daryl and we sprint after our friends.


	43. As Long as She's Still in It

**Chapter 43**

*Daryl's POV*

The bodies are still smoking, scorched nearly beyond recognition. David and Karen. Carol, Rick, Ty, Adie and I stand and stare in silent horror. Rick is the first to speak.

"You found 'em like this?" He questions, unable to tear his eyes from the gruesome scene before us.

"I came to see Karen," Ty replies softly. "And I saw the blood on the floor. Then I smelled them."

He's silent for a moment, then the dam breaks, rage taking over.

"Somebody dragged 'em out here and set 'em on fire!" He roars. "They killed 'em and set 'em on fire!"

He moves towards Rick and for a moment I think he's gonna hit him. He doesn't, but I see Adrienne's hand twitch for her gun out of the corner of my eye as I place myself behind Ty, ready to subdue him if necessary. She's dangerous. If Ty loses control, if he turns violent, she's gonna shoot him down. And then what the hell do we tell Sasha? I catch her eye and shake my head. She seems to understand, the hand resting on her Glock dropping loosely to her side.

"You're a cop," Ty says calmly. "You find out who did this and you bring 'em to me, you understand? You bring 'em to me!"

"We'll find out who-" Rick starts, but he can't finish before Ty cocks a fist back.

I grab his arm before he can hit Rick, but he shakes me off. He doesn't swing again, but I stay close, just in case.

"I need to say it again?" Ty demands.

"No, no," Rick says gently, shaking his head. "I know what you're feelin'. I've been there. You saw me there. It's dangerous."

"Karen didn't deserve this!" Ty roars, unmoved.

"No," Rick agrees.

"David didn't deserve it!" Ty continues. "Nobody does!"

"All right, man, let's-" I start, going for Ty's arm, my intention being to pull him away from Rick, away from the smoldering bodies.

But he ain't gonna go easy. He whirls around and grabs me, pinning me to the gate behind us. Carol, Rick, and Adie move in. I hold my hands up, stopping them before they can pull Ty off me. Adrienne looks murderous, but they all stop.

"Man, I ain't goin' nowhere til I find out who did this!" Ty screams, furious.

"We're on the  _ same side, _ man," I point out, but his hold don't loosen.

"Hey, look," Rick tries again. "I know what you're goin' through. We've all lost someone. We know what you're goin' through right now, but you, you've got to calm down."

"You need to step the hell back!" Ty whirls again, this time shoving Rick.

"She wouldn't want you bein' like this," Rick presses.

That shit was the wrong fucking thing to say, though, and Ty punches him hard, knocking him to the ground.

"Stop!" Carol cries, kneeling beside Rick as he attempts to get back to his feet. "Stop!"

But he's too far gone, rearing back and hitting Rick again. I lunge forward, pulling Ty into my chest.

"That's enough!" I snarl, Rick rising.

"Rick, don't!" Adrienne shouts, but it's too late. "Rick!"

Ty pushed him too far. Rick hurls a punch, then lands a kick to Ty's gut. He straddles him, hitting him over and over, blow after blow.

"Rick!" I warn, but he doesn't slow up. "Rick!"

Adrienne, because of fucking course she does, hurls herself at Rick's back, grabbing an arm. Christ, she's gonna get herself hurt. I lurch forward, grabbing his other arm.

"Adie, back up," I order, yanking Rick off of Ty. "Stop!"

"Let go of me!" Rick roars.

"No!" I snarl, arms around him. "No!"

"Let go of me!" He cries again, but he's not fighting anymore.

"Jesus Christ…" Adrienne breathes, dropping to her knees beside Ty, hands fluttering over him helplessly, not knowing if he'll let her help.

He's sobbing and bloodied, his eyes on his dead girlfriend's barbequed corpse. Rick is staring at his own mangled hands as though they'd moved on their own, beating the shit out of Ty without Rick's knowledge or consent.

"Get him outta here," Adrienne commands, and Carol obliges, taking Rick gently by the arm and leading him away. "Take him to Hershel."

Ty has allowed her to take his hands in hers and she pulls the bawling man into her arms, whispering to him. He collapses into her, burying his bloody face into her neck as she rocks him, her own tears beginning to fall. She'd been ready to shoot him five minutes ago.

"Shh… hey. Hey. Ty, look at me," she soothes, and he lifts his eyes to hers. "We're gonna get 'em. Okay? I promise you. We'll find out who did this."

He looks at her and nods, tears falling from his eyes and mingling with the blood on his face.

"C'mon," she says gently, pulling him to his feet. "I'll help you give her a proper burial. We can't leave her here."

"No," he rasps. "I'll do it myself."

She nods understandingly, stepping aside as Ty lifts Karen's charred body from the ground and leaves to bury her in the yard with the others we lost today. Fourteen, now. Fourteen, in total. Fifteen, if you include Zach. Fifteen of our people wiped out in less than a day.

"I'm gonna get him a sheet," Adrienne murmurs softly, her eyes flickering to mine. "Are you okay?"

"Were you gon' shoot 'im?" I blurt. "Ty?"

"I don't know," she mutters, something like shame clouding her features. "I didn't even really think about it, I just got ready, just in case. I thought he was gonna… he was so angry, I've never seen him like that and I... I was ready. Just, just in case I..."

She trails off, eyes far away. I get it, I think. She's violent, but she ain't violent. She ain't mean and she don't kill 'cause she likes it. It's instinct, it's an innate drive in her to protect the ones she loves. It's black and white for her, life or death. It's almost funny, in a way. She says Rick don't know how to do grey like she ain't the same damn way.

"Yeah," I grunt, eyeing David's remains. "I get it."

She nods, fingers worrying at a loose thread on the hem of her sleeve, following my gaze.

"I'll bring you a sheet, help you move 'im," she says quietly.

She kisses my cheek, turning to leave. It's brief and feather light and I'm almost not convinced it actually happened. I don't think I'll ever get used to this. Her lips against my skin like it's nothing. Like it's everything. No. I'll never get used to it. But that doesn't make me want it any less. It feels like she's only gone a moment before she's back with the sheets, silently helping me wrap David and carry his body out to the yard where Bob and Ty are digging two more graves.

I watch her. I see her and I know this world ain't all bad. Not as long as she's still in it.

*Adrienne's POV*

Hershel has called an emergency council meeting. More of our people are getting sick. This thing didn't end with Patrick and Charlie or David and Karen. So we find ourselves back in the library, once more trying to sort out problems that are bigger than we are.

"It's spread," Hershel announces gravely. "Everyone who survived the attack in cell block D. Sasha, Caleb, and now others."

"Oh, Jesus…" Daryl mutters from beside me.

"So what do we do?" Carol questions.

"First thing's first," Hershel says calmly. "Cell block A is isolation. We keep the sick people there like we tried with Karen and David."

"The hell we gon' do about that?" Daryl asks, crossing his arms.

"Ask Rick to look into it," Carol replies just a little too quickly, and my heart sinks.

Shit. Carol did it. She was worried about it spreading, worried about Lizzie and Mica, and tried to eliminate the threat to the rest of us. Only it doesn't fucking matter, she killed David and Karen for nothing, because it's  _ still spreading. _

"Try to make a timeline," she continues calmly. "Who's where when. But what are we gonna do to stop this?"

"There  _ is _ no stoppin' it," I point out, getting to my feet and pacing the room.

Christ, my head hurts. It's hotter than hell in this place, unseasonably so, even for Georgia.

"She's right," Hershel agrees. "You get it, you have to go through it."

"But it just kills you," Michonne says flatly.

"The illness doesn't, the symptoms do," Hershel counters. "We need antibiotics."

"We've been through every pharmacy nearby," Daryl points out, his eyes following me back and forth across the room.

"And then some," I add wearily, flopping back down beside him, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Cleaned 'em all out, unless we- holy shit," my eyes widen. "The vet school."

"West Peachtree Tech," Hershel nods. "That's one place people may not've thought to raid for medication. The drugs for animals there are the same we need."

"That's 50 miles," Daryl says, considering. "Too big a risk before. Ain't now, I'm gon' take a group out," he springs to his feet. "Best not waste any more time."

"I'm in," Michonne volunteers.

"You haven't been exposed," Hershel protests. "Daryl has, you get in a car with him…"

"He's already given me fleas," Michonne counters teasingly, and I can't help it.

I snort with laughter, and then it happens. The cough, tearing itself viciously from my throat. I can't stop it, doubling over. Daryl's hands are reaching for me immediately. I jerk away from him, clapping my hands over my mouth and scrambling towards the door.

"Adie," Hershel says firmly once my hacking subsides. "Cell block A. Now."

Daryl's eyes are on mine, horror-stricken. He starts towards me but I shake my head, backing up.

"Be safe," I croak breathlessly, and I feel like I'm gonna die.

I might not see him again, might never hold him or feel his skin against my skin or hear that low chuckle I fucking love or see the skin crinkle at the corners of his eyes on those rare occasions he actually really,  _ really _ smiles or... I could be dead before he comes home. My eyes fill with tears. He's not saying anything, not moving. It feels like the world just came to a complete standstill around us. I have to tell him. Just in case.

"Be safe," I repeat, staring into his eyes, voice barely above a whisper. "Come back. I love you."

I bolt, tearing down the hallway as my lungs betray me once more, the horrid, sputtering cough alerting Dr. S. and the others to my condition long before I reach my destination. Death Row.

Well, if I do go out, this is the place to do it.

*Daryl's POV*

Adrienne. No. Not her. I can't… I can't lose her. She said she loves me. Left before I could even process it, let alone respond. My mind is whirling, spinning like a top. I have to focus. West Peachtree Tech. She loves me. Can't think about that. Peachtree Tech.

"I can lead the way," Hershel announces, getting to his feet. "I know where everything's kept."

Well, his foot. He ain't coming, though. This ain't a run around the corner, this is 50 miles out and it ain't gonna be simple or easy. And he's only got one leg. Dr. S fitted a prosthetic on him, but he's still not as quick as he needs to be.

"When we're out there, it's always the same," I point out. "Sooner or later, we run."

"I can draw you a map," he concedes.

"Uh-huh," I grunt, moving to grab a piece of paper and something to write with.

_ Be safe. Come back. I love you. Be safe. Come back. I love you. _

"There are other precautions I feel we should take," Hershel announces.

"Like what?" Carol questions.

"There's no tellin' how long it'll be before Daryl and his group return," he explains. "Wouldn't it make sense for us to separate the most vulnerable? We can use the administration building. Separate office, separate room."

"Who is the most vulnerable?" Glenn asks.

"The very young," Hershel says.

"What about the old?" Glenn demands pointedly.

Hershel can't argue with that. He's vulnerable, too. Maybe more vulnerable than Ass Kicker, even. Adie's not very young or very old, how did she… not her.  _ Not her. _ Hershel draws up a map and I try like hell to shut Adie out of my mind. It's the only way I'm gonna get there, get what we need, what  _ she  _ needs.

Michonne follows me outside to check the cars.

"Sumbitch is about a quart low," I tell her, checking the oil in one of the vehicles.

"You still keep it in the bottom of tower three?" She asks.

"Yeah," I confirm, surprised she remembers.

"I'll go get one," she says, turning.

"Hey," I beckon her back. "I'm glad you're here."

I ain't sure why I feel the need to tell her so, but I am glad she's here. With Rick still on a break and Carol busy, she's about the only one left who can keep me level right now, get me through this. Adrienne… no. Focus.

"Where else would I be?" She questions, eyeing me.

"Runnin' off," I mumble, wiping oil from the dipstick.

"You know I'm not runnin' off," she bristles slightly, walking back towards me.

I nod. I know why she's out there. The Governor. I get it. I'd be doing the same damn thing if I thought we'd actually find the sumbitch.

"So it's just gonna be me and you like in the old days?" She questions, smiling softly, and I know she's trying to distract me.

"Yeah, and Bob," I inform her. "Still, feels like we could use another person."

"Who else isn't sick?" She blurts, eyes going wide when I flinch.

Adrienne. Adrienne's supposed to be here.

"She's gonna be okay," she says gently. "She's tough."

"We don't ask Rick," I say, pushing thoughts of Adrienne out of my head. "He wants to stay here with Carl 'n Little Ass Kicker. Keep 'em safe. Plus there's plenty of stuff he could do here."

"So who else we got?" She amends her earlier question.

Ty. We got Ty. I head inside to look for him while Michonne takes care of the car. I have a feeling about where Ty's gonna be and I'd rather pry all my teeth out with a pair of rusty pliers than go there, but we need him. Adrienne needs him, and I need her. Still, I don't want to risk seeing her again before leaving. Jesus, but I've checked everywhere. I reach cell block A and, sure enough, Ty's just outside it.

"Oh, here you are," I tell him, and he turns to face me. "Took me damn near forever to find you. Whatcha doin'?"

"Somebody needs to stand watch," he grunts.

"Man, I wanna find 'em too," I point out. "Put a bolt in 'em for what they did."

Ty turns back as someone inside the block coughs.  _ Adrienne. _ She's in there now. I feel a desperate urge to run to her, something unseen reaching through my gut and tugging at my spine. But I can't do shit for her in there.

"These people are cut off," I continue, swallowing. "Ain't no way anyone's gettin' in 'n out without a whole buncha people seein' 'em."

"Sasha's in there," he says pointedly, catching on. "I ain't goin' nowhere."

"Standin' guard ain't gon' do no good unless we come back with them meds," I point out harshly, and he turns away. "All right. We're gassin' up by the front gate, in case you change your mind."

I leave him, hoping like hell he follows.

-

"Everything look all right?" Bob questions, making his way to the car.

"Yeah," I nod. "Zach kept this thing runnin' pretty good."

"This is Zach's car?" He questions nervously.

"Yup, fastest one we got," I inform him. "You all right?"

"You really want me comin' along?" He asks.

I pull the list of medications Hershel drew up out of my pocket and point to the first one.

"What's that word?" I question.

"Zanamivir."

"Yup, we need you," I assure him, my point proven, just as Ty strides over. "'Sup?"

"Still got room for one more?" He asks breathlessly.

"Hell yeah." 

Thank fuck. We need him.

"Good," he says. "Just gotta get my gear."

"All right," I nod.

We're gonna pull this off. Ty's back and we're on our way, driving like hell towards this vet school. Michonne is quiet. Hell, we all are. But I owe her an apology.

"Hey, I know you weren't runnin' off," I tell her, eyes on the road. "Thing is, that trail went cold. You know that, right? If it was any different, I'd be right out there with you. Adrienne-" My voice cracks when I speak her name and I hate it. "She would be, too."

She nods, face softening. I clear my throat and fiddle with the radio, knowing full good and goddamn well it ain't gonna work but needing something, anything to keep my mind off of her.

"Would you hand me one of them CDs right there?" I ask her gruffly.

"Find sanctuary…" a voice crackles from the radio, and it's like a ghost.

"Was that a voice?" Bob demands.

"Shh," I hiss, cranking the volume up.

"...Determined to survive…" the voice is coming in and out, barely there. "...keep alive."

We're so caught up with the radio, I don't see the walkers on the road until it's too late, plowing right into one. I bring the car to a stop and they descend upon us like moths to a flame. We've driven directly into a herd. Hundreds of 'em.

"Grab somethin'!" I command, throwing the car into reverse and backing over the several walkers that have accumulated behind us.

"Go left!" Michonne orders, pointing to a gap. But we're stuck, wheels spinning in vain.

"We're jammed up!" I spit. "Make a run for the gaps right there. You two, you make a run for the woods and you don't stop for nothin', you hear me?"

Ty and Bob nod and it's time.

"Now!" I holler, Michonne hurling herself from the car as I shove the sunroof open.

I clamber to my feet, squeezing my arms and most of my torso through the sunroof, shooting down a few walkers, trying like hell to clear a path for the others. I pull myself up out of the car, sliding in an almost comically ungraceful way down the windshield and onto the hood before landing on my feet and tearing into the throng of dead assholes. Bob follows instructions, flying out of the car while Ty just fuckin' sits there like we got time to fuck around.

"Ty!" Bob roars.

I ain't got time to worry about him, though. Why can't he just follow fucking directions? Michonne, Bob, and I fight our way to the treeline.

"Go!" Ty shouts from the center of several dozen walkers all hellbent on his destruction. "Go!"

"Come on," I urge Bob and Michonne.

We have no choice. We duck into the woods, hauling ass the hell away from the herd on the road. We take out a few walkers in the trees before reaching a small clearing.

"Hold up," I tell them, turning back for a moment.

A couple more of the dead bastards have caught up with us, emerging from the trees. Then one falls, Ty right behind it, having taken it down. Holy shit. He's alive. He falls to his knees, out of breath and covered in walker guts.

"Come on!" I grunt, Bob and I pulling him to his feet as another group of walkers approaches.

And we're running again, the four of us. Alive, against all odds.

*Adrienne's POV*

My body is on fire, I'm sure of it. My everything hurts, there's not enough air in the entire room to fill my lungs. I cough violently into my shirt, blood spattering into the fabric. Hershel's here, somehow having managed to sneak past Maggie, taking over for Dr. S. Our doctor. Our  _ doctor _ is sick. Lizzie's sick, too, and so are a couple of the other children. Glenn got here shortly after I did. It's a party.

"You look like shit, Glum," I wheeze as he sinks to the ground beside me.

"You're not looking so hot yourself," he mumbles bitterly as Hershel ascends the stairs with a couple cups filled with a foul smelling, pinkish purple liquid made from elderberries.

"Drink," he orders, each of us doing as we're told.

"This sucks," Glenn sputters, having choked on his drink.

Hershel moves to put a cool rag over Glenn's face, but he's having none of that.

"I'm fine. I'm fine," he insists, making a valiant attempt at getting to his feet.

"Jesus, Glenn," I hack a few times, pulling him back down beside me. "You're not fine."

"Keep this on your forehead," Hershel says, pressing the cool cloth to Glenn's face. "Veterinarian's orders."

"This sucks," Glenn repeats with a heavy sigh.

"Mhmm," I agree, pressing my head against the cool bars of the window we're seated beside.

"After everything, we just get taken out by a glorified cold," Glenn adds.

"Don't say things like that," Hershel reprimands him gently. "Don't even think things like that."

"All I can do is stop saying them," Glenn counters heavily.

"No, you can do more," Hershel insists. "We got this far somehow, you can believe somehow. Now we all have jobs here. That one's yours."

Hershel produces a second damp cloth and smooths my hair back, pressing it to my forehead.

"Don't give up just yet," he says, eyes twinkling. "Daryl's going to be back with the medicine we need. You're going to be just fine. Both of you."

I sure as hell hope so.


	44. First We Have to Find Some Spaghetti

**Chapter 44**

*Daryl's POV*

"This is Turner Creek," Michonne announces. "So Barnesville must be a few miles downstream."

"Sounds like our best chance at findin' a new ride," Bob tells her, nodding.

"Yo, Ty!" I holler.

He's rinsing his shirt in the stream. Ain't doing much good, if I'm honest.

"Come on, let's go," I order. " _ Vámanos _ ."

We lost the entire night getting away from the herd on the road. Had to abandon the car. We're going to the next town over to hotwire the first car we come across that can get us there. Adrienne might be dead already. I'm not supposed to be thinking about her, but I can't help that thought creeping into my brain. Michonne can apparently read minds, though.

"Hey," she says, nudging me gently. "We're gonna get there. We're gonna get the meds and get you back to her."

"We ain't even close," I grunt, wondering why the hell Bob and Ty ain't coming yet.

"You can't think like that," she points out. "One step at a time. We find a car. We get to the college. We get the antibiotics, we get home."

She's right. One step at a time. Ty and Bob catch up and we keep walking, following the trail that's gonna lead us into town. I'm trying to think of nothing. It ain't going too great. Then I spot something on the ground, crouching to pick it up.

"Is that jasper?" Michonne asks, eyeing the stone in my hand.

"Uh-huh."

"It's a good color," she says. "Brings out your eyes."

She snickers and I know if Adrienne was with us like she's  _ supposed _ to be, the two of 'em would be laughing it up like they always do. It don't bother me when it's them, not anymore. It ain't mean, like it usually was with Merle.

"When Miss Richards went into A block, we were leavin'. Asked me to keep a lookout," I tell her, ignoring the teasing. "I'm gon' use it for her ol' man's marker."

"You know all them back there?" Michonne questions, laughter gone from her face.

"You stay in one place more 'n a couple hours, be surprised what you pick up," I point out.

We keep walking. I get why Michonne can't let the Governor go, but we ain't gonna find him. Adrienne knows that. I know that. If he survived, he'll be back. Let him come to us. We'll handle him. Couple miles downstream, we've reached the small town of Barnesville. Ain't much here, but we've come across an abandoned garage and it looks like there could be a set of wheels hidden beneath the overgrowth.

"You see somethin'?" Bob questions, following my gaze.

"I dunno, maybe," I tell him honestly, moving towards the foliage.

The greenery looks like it may have been placed here intentionally and, sure enough, it's concealing a minivan. Looks to be in decent condition, too. This'll work. I climb inside while the others clear nature's debris off the roof and windshield. Merle and I, being the degenerates we were, learned how to hotwire cars from a dealer we'd met after I dropped outta highschool and was following my brother around the state getting trashed in trailer parks and shitty motels. It ain't working. Shit.

"We gotta find us a new battery," I inform them, exiting the vehicle.

Luckily, we're just outside a garage. This is about as ideal as we can hope for. I spit on my thumb and try to wipe the dirt away from the shop window, but before I can get a decent look inside a couple snarling walkers fling themselves against the glass, growling feverishly.

"Got some friends inside," I sigh. "Come on."

The shop entrance has been reclaimed by the forest, the overgrowth blocking our way in.

"Let's clear a path, see how many we got," I suggest.

We all start tugging at branches, working slow with the exception of Ty. He's hacking away at the shrubbery as though it's wronged him in some way. Being pretty goddamn loud about it, too.

"Hey, man, go easy," I reprimand him gently, not wanting a hatchet to the head. "We don't know what we're dealin' with."

But he don't slow down til his weapon catches on something. He struggles to pull it back out, something rattling behind the veil of leaves. A door? Before I can think too much more about it, a rotted arm shoots from the overgrowth, clawing at me desperately. It manages to close its fist over my shirt, but Michonne is quick and slices the arm clean off. That ain't the only one though. A few more walkers, former grease monkeys from the looks of their tattered jumpsuits, tear their way through the overgrowth. We dispatch two of 'em without too much fuss, but Ty is holding onto the third.

"Tyreese!" Bob shouts, but he ain't listening.

"Ty!" I growl, knowing it's pointless.

"Ty, let 'im go!" Michonne snaps.

He just yanks the walker out of the overgrowth and the two of them tumble to the ground. He ain't fighting back, so I pull the walker off of him and step aside as Bob instinctively fires a round into its head. We ain't got time for this shit, any walkers in the area are gonna be drawn straight to us now.

"Why the hell didn't you let go?" Michonne demands, glaring at Ty.

He don't answer and that in itself is answer enough. He don't care. He don't care if he lives or dies, 'cause he don't think we're gonna get back in time. So Michonne and I are out here, the fate of our entire group in our hands, and we're stuck with a pissed off, suicidal lunatic and a trigger happy fucking optimist. This trip just gets better and better all the time. Without another word, we head inside.

"Come on," I urge softly, not seeing any immediate threats.

Bob and I make our way slowly through the shop, stepping out into the garage.

"Here we go," I mutter, spotting the battery we need instantly, just sitting there on a shelf.

I set it on a rolling cart and pry open the top to get a good look at it, see if it's worth taking.

"Hmm, cells look pretty dry," Bob observes over my shoulder.

"A little distilled water'll clear that right up," I tell him, relief flooding my body.

Finally, a simple fix. We snoop around the shop, searching for distilled water and anything else we can use, eventually happening across an empty bottle of antifreeze and some red solo cups scattered across the floor in one of the aisles.

"That's puke," I point out, shining my flashlight on the puddles of dried vomit on the ground. "Those douchebags in the vines took themselves out, holdin' hands. Kumbaya style."

"They wanted to go out together, same as they lived," Bob says, bristling. "That make 'em douchebags?"

That's the point. They  _ were _ together, so they had something to keep going for. A reason to fight. But they didn't.

"It does if they coulda gotten out," I tell him, pulling a jug of distilled water from the shelf.

"Everybody makes it, til they don't," he retorts. "People now days're dominoes. What they did, maybe it's about not havin' to watch 'em fall."

"Right," I scoff derisively, rounding the corner and coming across a walker pinned beneath a shelf. "C'mon."

Bob hesitates, staring pitifully down at the undead asshole on the floor. He snatches a screwdriver from a corkboard on the wall behind the front desk and plunges it through the walker's brain. Personally, I'd have left it alone. He chose this. Opted out. I grab the battery and head back outside, only too eager to get back on the road. Ty and Michonne have managed to clear the overgrowth from the car, the hood propped open and ready. I light up a cigarette and set to work.

"So you never told us about the group you were with before," I say to Bob, not able to stand the silence. 

Silence gives my mind time to wander.

"Which one?" He counters. "You know, when you found me out on that road, I almost kept walkin'."

"Why's that?"

"'Cause I was done bein' a witness," he says firmly. "Two times, two different groups. I was the last one standin'. Like I was s'posed to see it happen over and over, like it's some kinda curse. But, when it's just you out there with the quiet… used to be I'd drink a bottle of anything jus' so I could shut my eyes at night. Figured the prison, the people, thought it'd be easier. The run to the Big Spot, I did it for me."

"You gotta keep busy," I nod, taking a swig of water before placing another cigarette between my lips and lighting up.

"No," he retorts. "I did it so I could get me a bottle. Of anything. I picked it up, I held it in my hand, but I put it down. I put it down so hard it took the whole damn shelf with it. That's what brought on the walkers, and that's what got Zach killed."

"That's bullshit."

It was an accident. There are a lot of those these days, you can't go around blaming yourself for every single damn one of 'em. You'd go crazy.

"Why don't you get in there 'n try the engine?" I suggest. "It's a red n' a green wire. Go on, it ain't rocket science."

He eyes me, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips as he rounds the front of the van and drops into the driver's seat.

"Give it some gas," I instruct.

He does what he's told, and the engine roars to life. I clap my hands, feeling pretty encouraged now things are going just a little bit smoother. I whistle at Ty and Michonne, then turn back to Bob as they make their way over here.

"You know, Sasha and me picked that spot," I tell him. "We took you with us. Ain't no way anybody coulda known. You ain't gon' be standin' alone, not no more. Let's go."

*Adrienne's POV*

Things are getting bleaker by the minute. Hershel's put me on bed rest for the time being, doctor's orders. Not that I could get up if I wanted to. Still, I protest.

"Hershel, I'm okay," I wheeze, fighting to sit up. "I wanna help."

"You are not okay," he says, gently pushing me back down on the bunk as I cough violently, blood spraying from my mouth in a grotesque firework display.

"They should've been back," I say breathlessly, teeth chattering. "Daryl-"

I'm interrupted once more by a hacking fit. I can't stop, can't hold it back. My throat feels like I've been gargling glass, the chill throughout my aching body bone deep. I don't think I've ever felt this sick before.

"We've got to get your fever down," Hershel mutters.

*Daryl's POV*

"Looks like we're gettin' closer," I observe, the four of us having finally made it to the college.

"The building we want is just up ahead," Ty nods, and we head towards it.

We enter the abandoned building and, for once, there are no walkers immediately upon entry. We sprint down the hallway and duck into the first classroom we see.

"All right, let's make this quick," I order.

We split up, Bob and Michonne heading one way, Ty and me another. The four of us breeze through the building, snatching up everything on the list along with anything else Hershel and Dr. S could potentially use.

"How'd you do?" Bob asks as Ty and I enter the room he and Michonne are raiding.

"Bags, tubes, clamps, connectors," Ty lists. "Everything on the list."

"What about y'all?" I question, eyeing the medicine cabinets on the far wall.

"Yeah, we got it all," Bob nods.

"Yeah," Michonne agrees, sweeping the cabinet once more. "We're good."

"All right, let's roll," I command, exchanging a glance with Michonne.

She smiles softly and I wonder what she sees in my face. I can't help but feel relieved. We got what they need, we got wheels, we're gonna get there in time. She's gonna be just fine. She has to be. We shuffle down the hallway, loaded up with bags, backpacks, and duffels carrying what our people need to live. What Adie needs... things must have been going too well though, because we encounter a group of walkers in the home stretch. They all have bloody eye sockets, same as Patrick and Charlie had. These things died from the same sickness. Poor bastards. They detect us immediately and we sprint away, rounding a corner and ducking into another room.

"Hey, door's busted!" Bob whispers frantically, attempting to close the door and failing 'cause the damn thing's refusing to latch.

"Oh, hold up," I mutter, barricading the door just as the walkers catch up to us.

"There," Michonne whispers, spotting a sign for a stairwell.

Ty takes out a single walker lurking in the shadows and we follow Michonne's lead to a set of double doors. They're chained shut, walkers snarling behind them.

"How many?" I question, shining my light over the crack between the rattling doors.

"I can't tell," Michonne sighs.

"We can take 'em!" Ty insists.

"No!" Bob cries adamantly. "They're infected! Same as at the prison. We fire at 'em, get their blood on us, breathe it in? We didn't come all this way to get sick."

"How do we know the ones in there aren't any different?" Ty demands.

"We don't," Michonne points out.

Hell, no. We're so fucking close. We got the meds, we just gotta get our asses home. We ain't losing nobody else, not now. We'll take our damn chances with the stairs.

"Well, luck's gotta change some time," I grunt, snapping a leg off a chair and moving towards the doors. "Ready?"

"Do it!" Ty shouts, eyes on the infected walkers breaching the door at the other end of the room.

I break the chains off the doors using the chair leg as leverage and walkers flood in, the four of us taking them out in seconds. There had only been a handful and we sprint into the stairwell and down the stairs, the infected walkers on our heels, drawn by the noise, the movement. We reach the bottom and burst into the hallway downstairs, but we ain't alone. More walkers, milling about the hallway and shuffling out of open classrooms. We're cornered.

"We don't have an exit," Michonne frets, kicking at the emergency door when it doesn't budge.

"Then we make one!" I snarl, climbing up onto the window sill at the end of the hallway.

"Get down!" Ty hollers, hefting a fire extinguisher and hurling it at the window, shattering the glass. "Come on, move it!" 

"Jump down to the walkway below," I order, helping Michonne through the broken window.

"They're here!" Bob cries, and we haul ass out the window, leaping onto the metal awning covering the walkway.

Bob's the last one out, flinging himself onto the awning with a little too much force, his backpack sliding over the edge. He snatches it before it can fall, but the walkers on the ground have spotted him. They clamber for the bag, rotted hands clawing at it.

"Bob, let it go," Michonne says emphatically, willing to cut our losses if it means not watching another man die.

"Let it go, man," Ty urges. "Just let it go."

"Let go of the bag, man!" I hiss when Bob continues to play tug of war with the bloodthirsty corpses below.

He manages to wrench the bag loose and it goes flying, landing open on the awning a few feet away. Nothing is in it. Nothing, save for a single bottle of bottom shelf liquor poking out from beneath the flap. I pull it out, eyeing it in disgust. He was willing to risk all our lives for this?

"You got no meds in your bag?" I question lowly, looking up and raising the bottle. "Just this?"

He doesn't answer, just stands there breathing heavily. Caught. Just like Merle. Just like my piece of shit father. Hell, like my mother when she spent all the money on cheap wine and cigarettes instead of food.

"You shoulda kept walkin' that day," I hiss, moving to hurl the bottle at the ground.

"Don't!" Bob cries, his hand twitching towards his gun.

I stride towards him, half a mind to knock him over the edge for the walkers below. He was gonna  _ shoot _ me over this shit? I press my forehead to his, eyes drilling into him. He's lucky Adie ain't here. She'd've killed him on impulse. I snatch the gun from his holster, clutching his shirt as I glare at him, silently daring him to look me in the eye. I wanna shoot him, I really do. Adrienne  _ would _ shoot him. But she ain't here, is she? She ain't here and what the fuck even is the point of killing him, anyway?

"Just let it go, Daryl," Ty grunts. "Man's made his choice. Nothin' you can do about it. Just gotta let it go."

"I didn't wanna hurt nobody," Bob whines, shaking his head as I release my hold on him. "It was just for when it gets quiet."

I shove the bottle against his chest, hard, disgusted. He still don't dare look me in the eye. He can't. He's an addict. I have no patience for this shit. It takes all I got in me not to wail on him.

"You take one sip," I growl. "'Fore those meds get in our people, I will  _ beat _ your ass into the ground. You hear me?"

He clutches the bottle to his chest. He best understand I ain't talking out my ass. Getting those meds home is priority, if he forgets that again… I'll leave him. I'll leave him and he'll be alone. We make our way back to the van and load it up. I'm still seething, slumped in the passenger seat. Whatever self control I got, I'm using it.

"Best route's probably gonna be highway 100," Ty announces, he and Michonne hunched over the map.

"Then it'll take about 7 hours to get there," Michonne replies, then chuckling when something funny occurs to her. "Too bad we don't have Adie along. The way she drives, she'd shave an hour off that…"

She and Ty fall silent, and I know we're all thinking about the redhead with the lead foot. Hoping she's still alive. Sasha, Glenn, that all our people are still around. That we ain't too late.

"We're gonna need more gas," Michonne says finally.

"But we'll get there," Ty assures her, suddenly playing the optimist. "Takin' highway 100," he says, striding towards me.

"I heard," I mutter, glaring at the chunk of jasper in my hands.

"You were right, what you said before," Michonne admits, sliding into the driver's seat. "About the trail goin' cold. I don't need to go out anymore."

"Good," I grunt, yanking the door shut while Ty and Bob climb into the backseat.

Seven hours. Seven hours, provided nothing else goes wrong. Seven hours if no one fucks up, we find gas, manage to avoid walkers.  _ Seven hours. _ She could be gone by then. She could be gone already.

*Adrienne's POV*

"Henry, I need you to calm down," Hershel commands.

Henry's gotten worse, worse than any of us, to the extent Hershel's pulled me off bed rest so I can help. We've had to resort to a respirator, but even with Sasha, Glenn, and me holding him down, Hershel is having one hell of a time trying to get the tube down Henry's throat. He's thrashing around like we're trying to kill him. Hell, he probably thinks we are.

"We're tryin' to help," Hershel continues calmly.

Finally, we've got the tube down his throat. Hershel begins pumping air into Henry's lungs, and I think it's working. He's not choking anymore, at least. He's not coughing, either, which is more than can be said of Glenn, Sasha, and me.

"Drink some of that," Hershel orders, nodding at the cup full of elderberry tea. "All of you."

Glenn takes a sip, then passes the cup my way. I'm tempted to decline. Leave more for everyone else, because what if we run out and someone needs it? Not to mention the  _ taste. _ Elderberry sounds like it might taste nice, like a blackberry's more sophisticated cousin. It doesn't. If I had to try and describe the taste, I'd call it sour dirt. But the look Hershel's giving me… this is non negotiable. I gulp down the liquid and pass the cup to Sasha.

"Some council meetin', huh?" Hershel says conversationally.

"We're two members short," Sasha points out.

"I think we should make some new rules before they get back," Hershel suggests.

"Like?" I question breathlessly, wiping the sweat from my brow on the back of my hand.

"I hereby declare we have spaghetti Tuesdays every Wednesday," Hershel quips, and I attempt to bite back a laugh that turns into a wet, barking cough.

I can taste the blood in my mouth and lean over to spit it into the handkerchief I've been dragging around with me. It's now more crimson than white.

"First we have to find some spaghetti," Hershel continues, desperately trying to keep our spirits up.

I can't help but grin. I'm miserable at best, but Hershel… he's so damn stubborn, and tougher than hell. He's not showing any signs of sickness, either, and that in itself is comforting. He's not supposed to be in here, but I'm grateful he is. I don't think any of us would be making it without him. I wouldn't be.

"You okay to take over?" He questions, eyeing me.

"Yeah," I nod, scooting to where I can reach the respirator.

"Every five to six seconds, squeeze," he instructs. "You start feelin' lightheaded, grab Sasha to take over."

I nod my understanding, squeezing once and starting the countdown to five in my head.

"We'll take it in shifts," he announces, then turns his attention to Glenn. "You wanna help me go on my rounds?"

"Yeah," Glenn agrees, getting shakily to his feet. "Sure. How long will that keep him alive?"

"Just as long as we're willing to do it," Hershel says softly.

"As long as it takes," I wheeze determinedly. "We'll keep on."

Hershel squeezes my shoulder appreciatively, leaving Sasha and I to tend to our dying friend. As long as it takes. So we keep going, Sasha and I alternating every twenty minutes or so, keeping on as our people die around us. Until the third body falls, right there in the middle of the cell block. Brian, from Decatur.

"Go," I tell Sasha. "Go, I got 'im."

"I'll be back," she assures me, rushing out to help Hershel get Brian's body onto a gurney.

He's been taking care of the bodies near the visitation window, away from us all. I know why. I know he's trying to protect us, but he can't. This is our reality. There's a very real possibility none of us are getting outta this. Sasha's been gone too long. She's not back, but I can't leave. I can't leave Henry. So I carry on, forcing air into his lungs every five seconds. My head is swimming.

"Let me take over."

Glenn, appearing in the doorway. I scoot over, Glenn assuming my position.

"Where's Sasha?" I rasp.

"She passed out," he pants. "Dehydrated. Drink."

I obediently grab the cup, drawing it to my lips and allowing the bitter liquid to wash over my tongue once more. It really is vile. But it's helping. I know it is. If I live through this, I'll have Hershel to thank. Quite suddenly, there's a wet gurgling sound coming from Henry's chest.

"CPR," I hiss frantically. "Start CPR, I'll get Hershel."

I tear out of Henry's cell and down the stairs into the block, skittering to a halt beside Hershel as he shuts a Woodbury woman named Jeanette into her cell.

"Hersh-"

That's all I manage to get out before the cough takes over, wrenching itself from my lungs. I breathe in, trying to gulp down enough air to speak, but I can't. I don't have room, my lungs are too small. I keep coughing, hanging onto Jeanette's cell bars, blood spattering the concrete at my feet as I continue to hack.

"Hershel!" Lizzie's voice rings out just as my coughing fit comes to an end, and I whirl around just in time to see Henry's body stumble from his cell, respirator and all.

Then all hell breaks loose. Several more of our people, dead and walking, emerge from their cells. One of the walkers goes straight for Hershel, knocking him to the ground. Another shambles towards me, and I pull the Glock from the back of my waistband and fire into its skull before whirling and firing a second round into the walker attempting to tear the flesh from Hershel's face.

"Everyone stay in your cells!" Hershel orders as I help him to his feet.

Adrenaline may just be the closest thing to a miracle there is, because, despite feeling like shit, I'm running. I'm running and the air feels like sandpaper, like my lungs are filling with shattered glass or nails or something else unbelievably painful, and I'm hacking and spitting up blood, but I can still  _ run. _ I can move and I can fight because that's what we do.

I take down the last walker on the ground floor, then fire a bullet into the man who had been bitten. We're clear. At least, I think so until a shriek pierces the air. My eyes snap to the upper level of the block, where Lizzie lay beneath Henry's growling corpse, Hershel hobbling his way up the stairs as quickly as he can. Where the hell is Glenn?

Lizzie is damn lucky that respirator is still in Henry's mouth, blocking his gnashing teeth from tearing into her skin. Hershel reaches her and flings the walker over the railing, where it's caught by the chain link safety net attached to the floor, designed to keep prisoners and cops from falling to their deaths.

"Where's Glenn?" I demand, choking on another torrent of coughs erupting from my lungs as I scramble up the steps.

"In the cell!" Lizzie cries.

Hershel shepherds Lizzie into a cell with a couple of the other children, locking them inside and ordering them to stay put, and I fling myself into Henry's cell, where Glenn lay on the blood splattered floor, pale and choking, that same horrid gurgling sound Henry made emanating from his chest. There's nothing I can do, there's… oh, god, there's walkers coming up the stairs. More of them.

"Adie, he's gonna need that respirator," Hershel barks, tearing toward the landing, Caleb's shotgun in hand, to head off the walkers.

"Hold on, Glenn!" I wheeze, patting his shoulder. "You hold on!"

I tear out of the cell and fly across the walk to where Henry's corpse is still thrashing, driven by mindless instinct to devour, and hurl myself over the railing. I can't risk the shot, I could hit the bag, and Glenn will die without the respirator. It's the only one we've got.

"Adie!"

Maggie's here. Maggie's here and I don't know how the hell she got in or what the fuck she's thinking, but she's here, staring up at me in horror, gun raised. No, she doesn't know, she could hit the bag.  _ Glenn needs it. _

"No!" I snarl. "Don't shoot, not yet!"

Then I do something monumentally stupid. I have no other options. I grab hold of the respirator and yank hard, ripping that son of a bitch out of Henry's throat, removing the only thing in the way of his teeth.

"Now!" I shriek, covering my head with my hands and rolling across the chain link, out of the line of fire, just as one final gunshot rings out.

The last thing I see before everything goes dark is the respirator clutched in my hands, bag still fully intact. Glenn's gonna be okay. They're gonna save him. I grin and fade away.


	45. As Long As We Can

**Chapter 45**

*Daryl's POV*

It's dark when we pull in, Rick frantically pulling open the gates. Ty hurls himself from the van the moment Michonne puts the brakes on.

"Sasha?" He demands. "How's Sasha?"

"I don't know, I'm sorry," Rick tells him.

"Get in there," I command. "We got this."

"Daryl, go," Michonne insists.

So I do. I run. She ain't dead, she can't be. I need her. I hurtle into the cell block, taking in the bodies littering the floor, and I can't breathe. What the hell happened here? Where's Adrienne? I check every cell on the ground floor, she ain't in any of 'em. I tear up the stairs, two at a time, and spot Maggie in the first cell at the top of the landing. She's with Glenn, he's on a respirator. He's only alive 'cause something's breathing for him.

"Where is she?" I demand, fearing the worst.

"Third cell over," Maggie informs me, offering a sad smile that ain't at all reassuring.

I sprint into the cell. She's unconscious. Her already pale skin is stark white and clammy, her eyes ringed red. There's dried blood around her mouth and nostrils, but she's alive, her chest rising and falling with every rattling breath. She's alive. I sink to my knees beside her.

-

"You shouldn't be in here," Hershel tells me with a heavy sigh, entering the cell with IV equipment and the dissolved antibiotic mixture.

"She gon' die?" I blurt, surprised to find that I'm crying.

"No," he says adamantly, sticking a needle into her arm, delivering the medicine directly to her bloodstream. "Got here just in time. They'll all recover."

I stay with her through the night, everyone knowing better than to argue with me about this. Hershel fills me in, telling me what happened in horrid detail. We lost eight more, including Dr. S.  _ Eight. _ Hershel says it would've been a hell of a lot worse if it weren't for Adie. She, Sasha, and Glenn had done all they could to help him when Dr. S. got too sick to keep going, and Adie was the last holdout. Made damn sure Glenn got that respirator before she passed out.

Way Hershel tells it, she went from bad to worse within a few hours of being in A block and, predictably, carried on outta sheer fucking stubbornness. None of us eat enough, but Adrienne… she's constantly giving food away, someone always needs it more than she does. Not anymore. That girl's gonna eat from now on. I'm gonna make her. Going without put her at a distinct disadvantage, the flu ravaging her system twice as fast as it would have otherwise.

If we'd been even another hour, she might've died. Glenn would've without the respirator. But he didn't. He won't. And Adie… she's still here. And she'll rip me a new asshole when she wakes up if I don't get out there and do what needs doing. Ty and I take a truck out, digging more graves for our dead. At least the ones Hershel didn't have to burn. I know it's sick, selfish... but I think we're both grateful none of them are for Sasha or Adrienne. We pull back into the courtyard, ready to load up the bodies, just as Hershel steps outside.

"How's Glenn doin'?" Ty asks him.

"He made it through the night," Hershel informs him. "Breathin' on his own now. Maggie and Bob are with 'im, he seems stable enough for me to get some air."

"He's a tough sumbitch," I remark, eyeing the doctor as Ty walks off.

"He is," he nods.

"You're a tough sumbitch," I add.

"I am," he acknowledges with a half smile. "Adie's okay, too."

"She awake?"

"Oh, yes," he chuckles. "She wanted to come out here and help with the burials."

I scoff, shaking my head. Of course she did.

"How 'bout Carol?" I question, just now realizing I ain't seen her since we've been back. "She up in A block with Lizzie?"

"No," he says, turning back to face me for a moment. "Talk to Rick about her. She's okay. Just talk to 'im."

When I find Rick in one of the cell blocks later, he tells me Carol's gone. That she killed Karen and David and she's no longer welcome here. He left her out on her own. Excommunicated her. May just as well have put a bullet in her.

"Man, you couldn't've waited til we got back?" I question indignantly.

"Until  _ Tyreese _ got back?" He counters.

"I coulda handled that," I hiss.

"Hey, hey. She killed two of our own," he says emphatically. "She couldn't be here. She's gonna be all right. She has a car, supplies, weapons. She's a, she's a survivor."

"Stop sayin' that like you don't believe it!" I snarl.

"She did it," he says, nodding. "She said it was for us. That's how it was in her head. She wasn't sorry."

How can he fucking  _ condemn _ her like this? She was willing to do whatever it took to keep us all alive, to try and save us. How's it any different than when he was gonna give Michonne to the Governor, or when Adie was ready to blow Ty's brains out if it came to it?

"Man, that's her, but that ain't her," I tell him, shaking my head. "What are we s'posed to do about those two girls?"

Lizzie and her sister, Mica. Their pop had been bitten in D block. Carol promised him she'd watch over his girls.

"I told her we'd, we'd look after 'em," he sighs. "I haven't told Tyreese yet. I dunno how he's gonna take it."

"Let's go find out," I huff, heading down the stairs.

We ain't sure where the hell he's at. He ain't in any of the blocks, so we make our way into the tombs. He's probably playing Sherlock, searching this prison high and low for clues about what happened to his girl. Might as well go let him know he can quit looking.

"Tyreese!" Rick calls, his voice echoing ominously through the tombs. "You down here?"

I hate it down here. There's something heavy about this place, about these silent walls that must've seen countless men break behind their iron doors. Solitary confinement. Man, I'd rather they strap my ass to the chair than waste away alone in one of these cells.

"Rick!" Ty's voice rings out, just beyond where we stand. "That you?"

Rick and I exchange a glance, heading down the hallway. We're just about to the end, where the hall splits off into a T, when Ty emerges from around the corner.

"You guys gotta see this," he announces.

"Can we take a beat?" Rick asks. "There's somethin' we need to talk about."

"It can wait!" Ty insists, wheeling around and striding back down the hallway. "Come on."

So we follow him, down the hallway and around another corner, where he comes to a halt, shining his flashlight on something truly disturbing.

"Look," he urges.

"The hell?" I mutter, stepping forward and crouching down to examine the scene a bit closer.

A rabbit, what's left of one, sliced open and nailed to a small piece of plywood, skin pinned back to display the empty hollow where its guts used to be.

"I was just lookin' for…" Ty trails off, at a loss. "Answers. And I found this. Same person that killed Karen and David did this."

Nah. Carol ain't crazy. She killed Karen and David to protect the rest of us, keep that sickness from spreading. What the hell would she do some sick shit like this for? I get to my feet.

"Remember the rats at the fence?" Ty demands. "They showed up the same day she was killed. We got a psychopath livin' with us."

"Tyreese," Rick soothes, but he ain't having it.

"We gotta find him, Rick," he insists. "And I'm not gonna sleep until we do."

"Tyreese…" Rick sighs. "Whoever did this, I don't think that's who killed Karen."

"Why?"

Then something outside explodes.

"Come on," I hiss.

The three of us tear out into the courtyard, followed closely by Maggie, Beth, Carl, and few of the others. I almost ain't able to process what I see. An army at our gates, several cars and a tank, the Governor at its helm. He's alive. He's back, he's come for us.

"Rick!" The Governor calls. "Come down here. We need to talk."

"It's not up to me!" Rick hollers. "There's a council now. They run this place!"

"Is Hershel on the council?" The Governor demands.

One of the women with him moves towards an open SUV, dragging Hershel from the back seat. Insurance. The Governor knows we'll fight to defend this place, but we ain't gonna fire with one of our own in the middle of it all.

"What about Michonne?" The Governor adds, another of his men pulling Michonne from the back of that damn SUV. "She on the council, too?"

"I don't make decisions anymore!" Rick yells, desperation leaking into his tone as Hershel and Michonne are shoved to their knees in front of the Governor's people.

"You're makin' the decisions today, Rick," The Governor announces. "Come down here. Let's… let's have that talk."

Rick ain't got a choice this time and he knows it. He turns to Carl, stroking the back of his son's neck in a way I suspect is more for his own comfort than the kid's.

"We can do this," Rick murmurs. "All right?"

Then he's gone, striding down to meet the Governor at our gates.

"What the hell's goin' on?"

_ Fuck. _

*Adrienne's POV*

Something just exploded. Jesus, can't we ever catch a damn break? I shakily get to my feet and head outside, comforted by the pressure of the Glock still tucked safely into my waistband. I pull it out, switching the safety off and making my slow way to the courtyard. I feel much better already, but I'm still weak. Apparently I'd bitched out after getting the respirator for Glenn. Fever got too high, and I was already quite dehydrated. My body gave in. But Glenn's alive. Breathing on his own now. Maggie said Daryl wouldn't leave my side all night, made sure I kept breathing. He was gone when I woke this morning. 

Nothing could've prepared me for what I see when I make it outside. There's an army outside our gates. My father finally came to pay us a visit. With a tank.

"What the hell's goin' on?" I breathe, spotting Hershel and Michonne on their knees in front of the new cult the Governor has assembled, Rick heading towards the fence on his own.

"Adie," Daryl hisses, whipping around to face me. "Get back inside."

"We need her," Maggie argues, locking eyes with me and nodding.

Daryl glares at her, then nods his reluctant assent.

"Things go bad, you're gon' run," he murmurs softly, an almost pleading tone in his voice, reaching for my hand. "You're gon' run, and you ain't gon' stop for nothin'. You hear me?"

I nod, squeezing his hand briefly. I hear him.

"We can't take 'em all on," he mutters darkly, addressing the group at large, all of us watching Rick approach the fence. "We'll go through the admin building, through the woods like we planned. We ain't got the numbers no more. When's the last time someone checked the stash on the bus?"

"Day before we hit the Big Spot," Sasha replies. "We were runnin' low on rations then."

"We're even lower now," I sigh, glaring at the bus as though it somehow carries the blame.

"Yeah, we'll manage," Daryl assures us. "Things go south, everyone heads for that bus. Let everybody know."

"What if everybody doesn't know when things go bad?" Ty questions. "How long do we wait?"

"As long as we can," Daryl murmurs.

"I'm gonna go talk to 'im," I announce decisively, making to slip away from the group. "Can't just be Rick."

"No, you ain't," Daryl scoffs, grabbing my elbow and holding me back.

"Yes, I am," I counter hotly, shaking his hand loose. "The Governor was willin' to make a deal before, maybe I can-"

"That deal ends with you dyin'!" He snaps. "Or  _ worse. _ You ain't goin'."

He's right. There's nothing I can do to stop this, not a damn thing, and if I get myself killed… well, I won't be of much use then, either. So I stay planted right here, watching my father's every move. Every carefully nonchalant shrug, every overly practiced half smile and self assured dip of the chin. I can read him like no one else, even now. He's playing a part, one he's very good at. The Messiah. I know, with absolute certainty I  _ know... _ he's gonna kill us all. God damn it, I wish I could hear what they're saying. One thing I can hear, though, is the snarling of three walkers, shambling their way from the woods, right for the Governor's new and improved Woodbury.

Unfortunately, my ears aren't the only ones that pick up on their presence. My father whips his gun out and fires three rounds, each blast shattering the air, drawing god knows how many more walkers right to this spot. The longer we wait, the longer it takes Rick to decide whether we're running or fighting, the harder it'll be to get out of here. My trigger finger is itching, hatred simmering in my guts as I stare at my father, his calm, cool, and collected exterior igniting in me an anger like I've never felt.

"We gotta do something," Carl murmurs, standing between Daryl and me at the fence, the barrel of his rifle sticking through the chain link.

"Your dad's got it," Daryl mutters, his own weapon trained on my father as well.

"They're  _ talking, _ " Carl huffs, annoyed. "We could kill the Governor right now."

"From 50 yards?" Daryl questions derisively.

"I'm a good shot," Carl insists.

"Those people think he's the good guy," I point out. "We don't know what he's told 'em about us, but I'd be willin' to bet it's nothin' nice. You shoot now, they'll shoot you back."

"I could end this right now," Carl says adamantly.

"Yeah, or you could start sum'n else," Daryl counters. "You gotta trust 'im."

Suddenly, in one fluid motion, my father jumps down from the tank and grabs Michonne's katana from one of his people, placing the deadly blade against Hershel's neck.

"No!" Maggie cries, she and Beth in tears.

Rick is pleading with him, but I know. I know he's never gonna let go of this place. Never gonna let us walk out of here. He came for revenge. Blood. And Hershel's gonna pay the price. It happens quick, too quick. He swings the blade into Hershel's neck, blood pouring from the wound. Beth and Maggie's screams drown out anything else. Hershel falls. Then... chaos. Gunfire erupts, Rick's bullet piercing my father in the arm, but Rick is hit and goes down. Hershel's moving, somehow still alive, worming his way across the grass towards where Michonne has just ducked out of sight. But he's too slow. My father raises the katana again and again, hacking until Hershel's head is torn from his body completely.

"Take out the tank!" I shriek as the engine roars to life. "He's gonna bring down the fence!"

But it's too late. The fences that keep this place safe, without which this place is  _ worthless, _ come down, the tank crushing it's way over them with ease. Like they're made of toothpicks and glue, nothing more than flimsy dollhouse furniture. A few of the others run for the bus, but I can't. I won't. I hurl myself into the yard.

"Adie, stop!" Daryl roars, but I'm focused on my father.

He will  _ not _ walk away from this. Not this time. Not again. The rage in my stomach burns, boils over, consumes me whole, and I run, flying, legs propelling me across the yard towards the man who would take everything from me, destroy  _ everything... _ simply because he can. Because if he can't have it, no one can. I gun down three of his men, miraculously avoiding all the crossfire as I hurtle towards the only target that fucking matters.

He sees me coming, tries to shoot but misses. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, Rick launches himself at my father and they tumble to the ground, Rick's fists connecting with the other man's face repeatedly. Then they're both up again, exchanging blows, each struggling to gain the upper hand. But my father's got his hands around Rick's neck, he's choking him. He's gonna kill him.

I shoot. My dad goes down, my bullet piercing his foot.

"He's mine!" I snarl.

Rick locks eyes with me and backs off, disappearing elsewhere into the fray. I shoot another round, my father howling in pain as his other foot is torn open. He scrambles away from me, scuttling on his back like an overturned cockroach. I shoot again and again, peppering his body with bullet holes. His knees, hands, elbows... I don't give a shit that I'm wasting bullets. I just want him to suffer. I want him to  _ feel _ it when he dies. I let off a final shot just to the right of his navel. Then I'm on him, straddling his chest, years of anguish and  _ so much anger _ taking absolute control of me. I'm powerless against it. I can't,  _ I don't want _ to stop.

I pull my knife from my belt, my father's remaining eye going wide in terror. I stare into the face of the man who had been bound by blood to protect me. The man who had violated me over and over and over again. I loved him and he  _ ruined _ me…

"Adie Bee."

Something snaps inside me, my mind a rubber band that's been pulled too taut. I plunge my blade into his eye. His cheek, his forehead, his nose, his horrible, gaping mouth  _ -why is it always open?- _ and I do it again. And again. And again. He's not breathing, not fighting back. He's not crying, begging for his life. He's dead. Gone. But still I thrust the knife into his head, vengeance coiling itself around my consciousness and refusing to let me go, over and over and over…

*Daryl's POV*

I covered Adie as long as I could, but I can't see her anymore. The tank is slowly rolling my way, blowing holes in our home, while the Governor's new posse shoots down my people. There ain't a damn thing I can do about Adie now. I'm gonna take out that goddamn tank. There's a walker on my six and I take it down, impaling its body on my gun and stepping out from cover. These people ain't all stupid, several of 'em having stayed close to the tank.

Too many to take out with a gun, but I got something better. I hold my walker shield out in front of me, its carcass taking a small barrage of bullets as I reach into my pocket and pull out one of the grenades I'd stashed. I pull the pin with my teeth and toss the grenade around the walker, blowing the three assholes shooting at me to bits.

There's still walkers between me and the shithead in the tank, but they're cake to deal with at this point. You only gotta take out the close ones. They're slow, and they don't shoot at you. I pull the last grenade from my pocket. I got one shot at this, if it don't work… it's gonna work. I'm gonna  _ make _ it work. I pull the pin and sprint past the tank, leaping as high as I can as I pass the cannon, and hurl the grenade into the barrel, diving for cover, waiting for the blast to send the tank operator from the hull, either running for his life or in pieces like his buddies.

He jumps outta the tank just in time, rolling to the ground. Good. I'm gonna kill the sumbitch myself. By the time he's gotten to his feet, I've made my way over to him, bolt loaded and ready to fire. He offers me a desperate little smile, raising his hands, and it just pisses me off more. I fire my bolt into his chest. Let him die slow, turn. Somebody else'll kill him for good somewhere down the line. Before I can retrieve my bolt, Beth comes flying toward me from across the courtyard.

"I was tryin' to find the kids to get them on the bus!" She says frantically, breathlessly watching the flames dance atop the tank.

The kids… they either got on that bus or they're dead. Ain't nobody alive still here. Adie's gone. Rick, Maggie, Michonne… all of 'em, gone.

"We gotta go, Beth," I tell her. "We gotta go."

*Adrienne's POV*

"Adie!" Michonne's voice slices through my bloodlust. "Adie he's gone!  _ Adrienne! _ "

He's gone? I glance down at the body beneath me, nothing but a mass of blood, bone fragments, and brain matter where his head used to be, his eye patch nestled atop the mess. I pluck the patch from the ground, and I don't know why I need to, but I  _ need  _ to, so I loop the elastic band around my wrist, wearing the patch like a bracelet. He's gone. He's gone, and this time he will  _ never  _ come back. Michonne pulls me to my feet and I'm suddenly aware that I'm sobbing. He's gone. I'm gone, too.

"Shh," Michonne hushes, and I cling to her. "We have to go."

I allow her to lead me away from my father's mutilated carcass, eyes sweeping what's left of our home. The bus is gone. Hell, everyone's gone. Just us and the walkers and the smoke.  _ Daryl. _ My heart stops beating, falling through my rib cage and into my stomach.

"Daryl!" I scream desperately, eyes frantically searching for the man with the wings on his back, ears listening for the sharp thwang of a bolt zipping through the air. "Daryl!"

"Adrienne…" Michonne breathes, face falling.

"No. No, no, no, no!" I howl, dropping to my knees. "Daryl!"

"We have to move!" She cries, yanking me back to my feet, but I'm hysterical. "Hey!" She grabs hold of my shoulders, shaking me just hard enough to jerk me back into my senses. "If he got out, we'll find him. Come on!"

I pull myself together. Lock everything up tight. We're on the opposite side of the yard Daryl and the others would have left from. But all the noise has drawn a herd. We'll never get through. Unless…

"Michonne," I croak. "We need rope. Somethin'. We-"

"Yeah," she says heavily, eyeing the roving corpses. "I know."

Together we cross the yard, taking down only the walkers that get too close on our way towards the security spikes we'd made ages ago. An idea we'd stolen from a man called Morgan from Rick's town. The walkers walk right into them, can't get themselves unstuck. We lead two walkers onto the spikes near one of the rope and pulley systems we'd rigged up at the north gate. They impale themselves as planned and I cut down the rope while Michonne lops the arms off of our new undead bodyguards.

Once we've finished the nasty business of removing their lower jaws, we lash them together and head for the woods, the sun sinking low in the sky. Something stops us though. Hershel's head. Only his head. He's turned, his eyes cloudy and lifeless, jaws gnashing restlessly. I kneel beside Hershel's head, looking up at Michonne, the tears in my eyes a reflection of her own. Then I plunge my knife into his brain. She pulls me to my feet once more and we leave, our home destroyed, darkness rapidly falling, and only the vaguest idea where our family went.

We walk as long as we can, putting distance between us and the herd taking over what's left of our home. It was stupid of us to think we could just live. That we could be happy,  _ safe _ for the rest of our lives. It's silent, save for the crickets, the chitterings of night birds. We don't speak. We can't. I don't know if it's shock or grief, but I feel physically incapable of uttering a single word. Still, we don't need to talk when we come across an abandoned shack in the trees. We head inside, deeming it walker free before barricading the single entrance and collapsing to the floor to sleep.

-

"No… Andre."

Michonne's whimpers wake me some time in the night. She's twitching, her eyelids fluttering like she's somewhere between asleep and awake, like she's having a nightmare and she knows it's just a dream, she just needs to  _ wake up. _ I scoot my aching body across the floor and curl myself against her. She flinches, still trembling, muttering to herself.

"Andre."

I don't know who Andre is, but this isn't unusual. I've spent a lot of nights awake in my cell, listening to my people cry in their sleep for the ones they loved before. Even Daryl, sometimes, barking out Merle's name so clearly it almost sounds like he's awake and I almost expect Merle to answer him.

"Shh," I whisper. "It's okay. It's okay. It's gonna be okay."

I don't know if I believe that. I want to, though.

Morning comes and, with it, more silence. There's not much here in the way of supplies, but there's a single can of baked beans and a package of long gone stale graham crackers, which we split and wolf down before leaving. We walk in the quiet for some time, my eyes roving the ground for something, anything… there's a trail. I rub my eyes vigorously, half convinced they're lying to me, but they're not. People came through here, and recently. These tracks are fresh.

"There's tracks," I croak hoarsely, pointing at the boot prints in the mud. "Two people, one a lot smaller. Could be Rick and Carl."

Daryl had taught me the basics of tracking when he, Michonne, and I were looking for my father. Before, I'd have walked right by this trail without a second glance. Maybe not even a first. Michonne eyes the prints, considering. Then crosses over the dirt path, heading into the trees on the other side.

"Michonne!" I hiss, scrambling after her.

"What's the point?" She questions calmly. "Follow prints that could belong to anyone who passed through here? To  _ walkers? _ And for what?"

"A chance," I whisper, eyeing her.

"I'm through with chances," she says, continuing to walk. "You wanna risk it, you go right ahead."

"Michonne!" I protest, but she's not having it. "Michonne,  _ please! _ "

But she won't stop. She leaves and I let her, doubling back to the trail and hoping like hell Carl and Rick haven't made it too far ahead. It's them, I'm sure of it. I follow the trail. That's all I can do. Follow the trail, hope I find them. Hope I don't encounter a herd. Hope I don't come across the sort of shitty people this seems to favor... I've got a hell of a lot riding on hope and I'm not convinced I've actually got anything left to hope for.

Still. One foot in front of the other. Keep going. Keep moving. They can't all be dead, these tracks are proof of that. I'm only walking for about an hour when a group of walkers comes shambling out of the woods. Only five. I can take five. I pull my knife out, burying it in the nearest one. But more are coming, feverishly stumbling from the trees. A dozen now, then two dozen. I can't do this. I can't take them all, not on my own. But something inside me, some defiant little part of me that can't die, refuses to give up. Not without one hell of a fight, at least. I whirl around, plunging my blade into walker after walker, an obscene dance with death come alive.

Then one gets its arms around me, its dead, decaying fingers clawing frantically at my shirt.

"No!" I roar. "No, no, no, no!"

I spin in its grasp, lodging my knife into its eye socket just as its jaws are about to sink into my shoulder. I fight like hell, fight until I'm bloody and exhausted. My body is screaming at me, sweat pouring from my face. Each breath feels like broken glass tearing at my windpipe, my lungs. I can't keep going. I can't. There's too many. I'm going down. This is it. Then a long blade pierces through the walker facing me and it crumples to the ground, revealing a breathless Michonne. She enters the fray and together we take out the rest, the two of us ending up back to back, still standing against all odds.

"You came back," I croak, turning to face her.

"Of course I did," she counters, smiling despite our bleak circumstances. "Look what happens when you're out here unsupervised."

"Piece of cake," I mutter, glaring at the bodies.

We share a glance and chuckle, which slowly turns into adrenaline fueled mania, the two of us standing in the middle of the road cackling like lunatics and holding onto each other for dear life. There's something joyous about it, something rebellious and free. Until my laughter turns into a hacking cough, violently tearing itself from my lungs, screaming look at me. I'm still here, don't forget about me.

"Shit," I wheeze, wiping the tears from my eyes as we both sober.

"Come on," Michonne urges, and we set out together.

One foot in front of the other. Keep going. It's easier together, and we don't run into any more walkers. We do, however, come across a small diner. The tracks we're following have veered off the dirt road in the direction of the modest building, and we head inside.  _ Joe & Joe Jr.'s BBQ Shack, _ the sign says. I wonder if Joes Junior and Senior are alive somewhere. Probably not.

"I miss real barbeque," I remark as we step inside, stomach growling at the thought of food. 

Someone's been here recently. There's nothing left, aside from a large display of hot sauce, which won't do us any good, anyway. Still convinced it's Rick and Carl's trail we've been following, I doubt they left anything behind. If there was anything here to begin with, they took it.

"Looks like it's been cleared out," I muse.

"I need a minute," Michonne blurts, slumping against a wall.

I nod, heading out the door to keep watch. I try to keep a respectful distance, but I can hear her murmuring to herself. Crying. I eye the parking lot, tuning her out and taking in the bikes. Motorcycles. I half expect him to come around the corner, greasy and disheveled, hands covered in motor oil, a cigarette dangling precariously between his lips, muttering something about  _ fuckin' goddamn Pennzoil. _ I shove my hands into my pockets, my right hand closing around a piece of cloth.

Daryl's bandana. The green one he'd tied around my head back at the prison. The only thing I have left of him. I bring the material to my face, inhaling its scent. It smells like him. Pine. Stale cigarettes. Motor oil and smoke and those cinnamon sticks he likes to chew on sometimes and something else that's just… Daryl.

"Heads up," Michonne's voice breaks into my thoughts.

She strides right past me and takes out a walker that had been only a couple yards away. I hadn't even seen it. She whirls around, ready to ream me out for not paying attention, I'm sure. But she catches sight of what's in my hands and her face softens in understanding. I fold it up and place it back in my pocket, where it's safe. We keep going, following the trail where it picks back up at the front of the diner. One foot in front of the other, no matter how bad it hurts.


	46. Starin' Into a Fire and Eatin' Mud Snakes

**Chapter 46**

We make camp for the night in an abandoned Ford Taurus, Michonne insisting I sleep while she watches through the night. It's not fair, but I can't fight her when she points out my nearly incessant cough. I'd gotten enough medicine in me to fight off the worst of it, but I'm still very sick. So I sleep and, when I wake, we keep right on walking.

Eventually we enter a neighborhood. We've lost the trail, the few things Daryl taught me not nearly enough to make me a decent tracker, but there's something in the road. A can. Michonne crouches down beside it, squinting quizzically. Chocolate pudding. One of the big tins. It's empty, but it hasn't been for long. The pudding, what's left of it, looks fresh. I stare at it and I know. I just know.

"Carl," I tell her with a grin.

She rises and kicks the can gently.

"Carl," she agrees, eyeing the house just beyond where the abandoned pudding tin lay.

We make our way up the drive and we can see our boys through the mesh curtains, sitting on the floor inside the house. She and I exchange a glance, the two of us sobbing in relief. She chuckles softly, eyeing me questioningly. I nod and she knocks. There's a shuffling from inside, both Grimes moving out of sight. We can hear laughter, hushed whispers between father and son. Then there's a scraping as they move a large piece of furniture away from the door, and finally,  _ finally,  _ the door opens.

"Adie!" Carl cries brightly. "Michonne!"

The boy flings his arms around each of us in turn, clinging to Michonne and sobbing. I watch them for a moment or two, tears flowing freely down my cheeks, before I'm accosted. Rick drags me into a hug, burying his face into my neck and bawling. We hold each other for a while, all of us, and we cry. We're together. And we're  _ alive. _ I pull back and smooth Rick's hair from his eyes.

"You look like shit, bro," I wheeze, half sobbing, half laughing.

"Says you," he grins.

Then his face crumbles again, the two of us collapsing into each other's embrace, choking on sobs,  _ marveling _ at the sheer unlikelihood of our reunion. It's bittersweet. We're missing people. For all we know, it's just us now. We've lost so much. We're grieving. Bittersweet, but sweet nonetheless.

*Daryl's POV*

It's just Beth and me. I had to get Beth outta there. Keep Beth alive. So we ran. Ran like hell and didn't stop for nothin'. Seems to be about all we can do. We run until we can't run anymore, til we don't have to.

We collapse into a field, catching our breath before making camp. Night falls and I figure it's okay to build a low fire, so long as it's real low. It ain't much, but it'll keep us warm. Get us through the night. We're huddled beside it, finally somewhat safe. Not being actively pursued by a horde of bloodthirsty corpses, at least. It's only now that I allow thoughts of Adrienne to creep in. Did I leave her? Is she alive? Dead? Somewhere between? Do I want to know? The answer is a resounding yes. But I'm afraid to find out. We sit like this for hours.

"We should do somethin'," Beth's blurts. 

I just glare into the fire. Ain't nothin' we can do right now. Going back sure as hell ain't an option. Maybe this is what I get for thinking we had it good, for leaving well enough alone with the Governor. For giving up. For thinking something was gonna work out.

"We should do somethin'," she repeats adamantly when I don't reply.

The hell's she think we need to be doing right now? The sun ain't even gonna be up for another hour or two. I eye her appraisingly. She just lost her dad. Her sister. She ain't exactly gonna be thinking clearly right now, wouldn't be fair to expect her to. Still, I find it annoying. The optimism. If she's gonna be all I got the rest of our lives, she's gonna need to figure out reality real quick.

"We aren't the only survivors," she continues. "We can't be. Rick, Michonne, they could be out here. Adie…"

She trails off, the mention of Adrienne like a bullet to the gut.

"Maggie 'n Glenn could've made it outta A block," she says quietly, refusing to give up hope. "They could've! You're a tracker. You can track."

She gets to her feet, increasingly desperate.

"Come on. The sun'll be up soon. If we head out now, we can-"

I silence her with a shake of my head.

"Fine," she huffs. "If you won't track, I will."

With that, she grabs her knife and stalks off into the trees. Petulant. Impulsive. So like Adie. Determined. Stubborn. Refusing to acknowledge her own fucking limits. Still, I can't very well just let her wander off into the woods alone. She'll just get herself killed, and I ain't gonna let that happen. I kick dirt over the fire, extinguishing the flames, listlessly slinging my crossbow over my shoulder and heading after her. We walk through the woods as the sun slowly rises. Eventually, we do come across tracks. I crouch down to examine them. Boots. Too heavy to be Adrienne, even if the tread matched them battered old combat boots she wears. I know her tracks.

"Could be Luke's," Beth says hopefully. "Or Molly's. Whoever they are, it means they're alive."

"No," I correct her. "This means they were alive four or five hours ago."

"They're  _ alive! _ " She snaps, stalking off along the trail of boot prints.

I follow her because what the hell else I got to do? Ain't like I'm busy.

"They picked up the pace right here," I point out a handful of wild grapes on the ground.

Whoever it was, they'd been startled. Dropped the fruit and ran, strides getting longer, indicating an increased speed.

"Got out in a hurry," I add. "Things went bad."

"Wouldn't kill you to have a little faith," she says, taking personal offense to the truth.

"Yeah, faith," I scoff. "Faith ain't done shit for us. Sure as hell didn't do nothin' for your father."

Fuck. I shouldn't have said that. She needed to hear it, though. Can't argue with it. She wheels around, pulling grapes off the plant behind her.

"They'll be hungry when we find 'em," she insists.

Christ. If denial is her coping strategy right now, hell's it gonna hurt to let her gather some goddamn fruit? I hand her my bandana and she takes it, gently wrapping her grapes inside the makeshift pouch before hurrying along after me. We continue through the forest, eventually stumbling upon a couple downed walkers. That ain't what concerns me.

"What?" Beth demands.

"That ain't walker blood," I point out, nodding at a bloodied shrub near the bodies.

"Trail keeps goin'," she says, still clinging tightly to her delusion. "They fought 'em off."

"No," I tell her gently. "Got walker tracks all up 'n down here. At least a dozen of 'em."

A twig snaps and we both scan the trees, searching for the source, seeing nothing. He makes himself known, though. A walker lunges from the trees. We take him down, and I nod at her. I told you so. But I won't say that out loud. She wants to see this through, we're gonna see it through.

"Come on," I urge, and she follows.

We'll continue to the end of the trail and whatever the hell's at the end of it if that's what she needs to see. She ain't gonna let it go until she does. And we do reach the end. What's left of some bodies, splayed out across the train tracks. Walkers, still feasting on the flesh. I fire bolts into each one, the two of us descending onto the tracks to retrieve the arrows from the bodies and get a closer look at whoever it was we'd managed to find. I can't tell, there ain't enough left. Just a single hiking boot, small. Beth cracks.

_ I don't cry anymore, Daryl. _

Her sobs are gut wrenching, her grief and pain finally manifesting itself after hours upon hours of holding it in. I don't know how to handle this. She'd be better off with anyone else, at least emotionally. I don't know how the fuck to deal with this. Not for the first time, I wish Adrienne were here. She's good at this, can comfort even the most anguished souls with her touch, her whisper, even just the assurance that comes from knowing she's  _ there. _ But she ain't here. I keep walking, assuming Beth will follow. She does. Ain't like she's got another choice.

We make camp, another damn near useless fire burning, and hunker down to wait out the night with no sleep and no food.

I can't but feel like it's only a matter of time before she's dead, too.

*Adrienne's POV*

It feels bizarre after all this time to be sitting in an actual kitchen at an actual dining table inside an actual house. Carl scavenged some cornflakes from a house down the way and we're having ourselves a five star breakfast of stale cereal and stagnant water. Michonne managed to scrounge up a men's dress shirt from one of the closets upstairs that's about three sizes too big, but at least it's clean. Carl eyes her and chuckles into his bowl. I can't help it, I snort just a little.

"Do you have somethin' to say about my  _ extremely comfortable _ and  _ attractive _ shirt?" She questions, pulling the sleeves up pointedly.

"No, no, no," Carl laughs. "It looks great."

"Real smooth, twerp." I chuckle, chewing as Michonne takes a seat at the table.

"Wish we had some soy milk," she laments, pouring herself a bowl of cereal.

"Vanilla," I add, nodding. "That shit was the bomb."

"Seriously?" Carl asks indignantly, eyes flickering between the two of us in utter disbelief.

"Yes, seriously," Michonne fires back with a grin. "Have you ever tried it?"

"My, my best friend in third grade, he was allergic to dairy," Carl explains. "And every day he would bring this soy stuff to lunch. I tried it."

"And?" Michonne prompts.

"I threw up!" He giggles.

"Oh, yeah, right," she scoffs.

"All right, all right," he concedes. "I almost threw up. But I was like… bleh."

He pantomimes blowing chunks and Michonne and I laugh despite our mutual love for soy.

"It was so gross," he continues. "I mean, literally, I would rather have powdered milk than to have to drink that stuff again. I would rather have Judith's formula-"

Then his face falls, silence falling with it. He leaps from his chair, tears forming in his eyes, and sprints from the room. He claims he's finishing the book he'd found in one of the upstairs bedrooms, but we know. Judith's gone. I squeeze Michonne's hand, heading up the stairs to raid the closet. I'm still covered in, like, six varieties of blood. I've got to get out of this. There's not much here, but there's a clean brown and yellow checkered flannel that looks to be in pretty good shape. I pull it from the hanger and run my fingers along the sleeves. It looks like something Daryl used to wear.

Except maybe one thing.

I pull my knife from my belt and cut through the threads binding the sleeves to the rest of the shirt, tearing them off at the seams. I discard my bloodied t-shirt, kicking it to the back of the closet, and pull on the now sleeveless flannel. I'm damn near drowning in it. Just like I'd been drowning in the shirt Daryl had given me on the highway ages ago. I pull his bandana from my pocket, once again pressing it to my face. And I pray. Please be alive. Come back to me.

I know it's useless. I know no one's listening.

I pocket the bandana and head back downstairs. Michonne knowingly eyes my new getup but doesn't say anything. I think she gets it. She and Carl are going on a run. Just a quick ransack of the other houses in the area, no big deal. Still, like Rick, I've been sentenced to house arrest. He'd taken a bullet and a hell of a beating from my father and, admittedly, I'm still not feeling super hot. Michonne very bluntly pointed out that I damn near didn't make it off that dirt road alive. If she hadn't caught up with me when she did, I'd be dead. That I need to rest. And so I stay.

"I'll take the back room," I tell Rick once Carl and Michonne have left, knowing the beds in the other rooms are bigger.

Rick nods and we move the sofa back up against the door before going our separate ways. I flop heavily onto the twin sized bed in the back bedroom and my world damn near immediately goes dark, my racing mind yielding to the demands of my leaden body.

-

I'm running, my heartbeat a frantic thrum in my chest. I'm so tired, I'm so goddamn tired, but there's something… something I need, something important I've lost. I don't know what it is, but I have to find it, I  _ have  _ to, it's just ahead, it's gotta be. If I can just push a little further, just through those trees-

I wake in a cold sweat to somebody screaming. A man, but it's not Rick. Then raucous laughter reaches me. Cruel, mirthless. There are men downstairs. Several, from the sounds of things. I bolt upright as heavy feet stomp up the stairs and fling myself beneath the bed, hoping like hell Rick has the sense to hide and stay put. Not to come looking for me. He'd given his gun to Carl, and I have precious few rounds left. Three. I have three. The door to my room opens, a man tromping inside.

I hold my breath, terrified he can hear my heart thundering in my chest. He's armed. His boots are spattered with fresh blood, probably from the man who had screamed just moments ago. He strolls about the room idly, rifling through the belongings of the kid this room once housed, then he leaves. I don't dare move. Not yet. After what feels like hours, I can hear the man snoring loudly from another room. I didn't hear any struggling, so I can only assume Rick is hidden. I slide out from beneath the bed, getting to my feet just as a second man ascends the stairs.

Christ! I silently steal my way across the room, slipping into the closet and pulling the door closed behind me, careful not to make a sound. There's an argument down the hallway between the two men about which bed is  _ 'claimed' _ , and, with a jolt, I realize they must be in Rick's room. The master, the only one furnished with a bed larger than a twin. The heated dispute eventually comes to blows, but only lasts a few moments before one of them evidently dominates the other, the thud of a body hitting the floor followed by a satisfied sigh and the squeaking of mattress springs. I wait. Staying still. Listening. Someone's thumping a ball around downstairs, at least three men chatting conversationally. Maybe more. Two up here, we're looking at five plus.

The snoring from the man in Rick's room starts up again and I feel safe stepping out of the closet. I peer into the hallway just as Rick emerges from the room at the other end. Relief floods my body until I hear another man.

"Tony, Len, get your asses down here!"

Rick's eyes go wide and he scrambles down the hallway as quickly as he can while remaining undetected by the man approaching the stairs. Together, we hide in a small, windowed alcove in the room I'd been napping in. It's the man with the ball. He enters the room, Rick and I exchanging a terrified glance from opposite sides of the alcove doorway as a ratty, green tennis ball flies past our faces, bouncing off the window and back into the man's waiting hand.

He leaves, satisfied that this room is empty. Rick and I fly to the windows, but they're sealed.

"How many rounds you got?" Rick mouths, nodding at my gun.

I hold up three fingers and he curses internally, the only loaded weapon between the two of us rendered almost obsolete.

"Claim, claim, claim!" One of the men hollers.

"Shut the hell up!" Another shouts. "I'm tryin' to sleep!"

"There's a woman shackin' up in here!" Yet another man announces.

Rick's horrified eyes meet mine. Michonne. They've seen her. Rick crosses the room, snatching a kid's sporting event trophy from a shelf on the wall. Better than nothing.

"Say what?"

"Come on down!"

"She hot?"

"Don't grab your pecker just yet, she ain't here."

Thank god. But how do they know?

"What the hell you hollerin' about?"

"Found her shirt."

Ah. I exchange a glance with Rick, visibly relieved.

"Musta washed it this mornin'. Smells good!"

"Oh, you found a  _ shirt. _ She could be miles away by now."

"Why'd she go to all the trouble of washin' a shirt when she's just gonna ditch it?" 

"I call first when she gets here."

First? Oh, Jesus Christ. We need to get the hell outta here before Michonne and Carl come back and walk into an ambush. Back to back, Rick and I creep into the hallway just as yet another man is ordered to come back up the stairs.

"Get him the hell up!"

Fuck. We duck into the bathroom, door closing just in time. Unfortunately, we aren't the sole occupants. There's a man in here, in the middle of changing his clothes and, understandably, quite surprised to see us. I can't fire, it'll give us away. It doesn't matter, Rick manages to overpower the man, pulling him to the floor and strangling him with his own gun strap. The man slips away and Rick takes his gun.

Wasting no time, I ease the window down. It doesn't stick, I'm able to open it. Rick quickly unlocks the door, pushing it open and leaving it ajar. It's good thinking. When the man he just took out turns, he'll take care of his scumbag buddies for us. The two of us climb out the window and onto the roof. We're only on the second floor, but it's still a hell of a drop to the back deck. Rick is more hurt than he lets on, maybe more than he wants to believe, the landing jarring him. Still, we're right back up and at it, silently rounding the house, making our way to the front porch.

We're just about home free when the front door opens, the man with the ball stepping out onto the porch. God damn it. I flatten myself against the foundation of the house, Rick right beside me, the rhythmic, staccato bouncing of that motherfucking ball grating on my very last nerve. Then it stops. It's silent. What the hell, where is he? Rick sneaks a peek just as the man's heavy footfalls indicate he's on his way over here.

We can see him now. He looks like a bargain brand Ron White, all waxy leather skin and salt and pepper hair -albeit, much more salt than pepper- leaning over the railing to spit. Once. Twice. Charming. Then he hoists himself up onto the rail, leaning lazily against a column. He's settled right in and then we see them. Carl and Michonne, still down the street a ways, but headed straight into Ball Boy's line of sight. Rick's frantic eyes meet mine and I nod. We have no choice. We're gonna have to shoot.

Or not.

If the sounds of struggle inside the house are any indication, their dead friend just stumbled out of the bathroom and tried to take a bite outta one of 'em. Ball Boy heads back inside, griping the whole damn way. Gunshots ring out and Rick and I make a run for it.

"Go!" Rick whispers, Carl and Michonne staring in wide-eyed confusion. "Go!"

We run, not slowing until we reach the train tracks. We're walking silently for a bit. Carl's mood seems to have bounced back from this morning, he saunters along the middle of the tracks.

"Crazy cheese?" He reaches into his pack, pulling out a can of spray cheese and offering it to me.

"Oh, my god," I snatch it from his hands and he snickers as I tip my head back and fill my mouth with processed goodness. "This is the  _ holy grail _ of trash food," I announce thickly, swallowing as we come to a stop beside a large banner hanging on the side of a train car.

SANCTUARY FOR ALL

COMMUNITY FOR ALL

THOSE WHO ARRIVE SURVIVE

There's a map just beneath the banner, a large star marked  _ Terminus _ drawn over a spot where all the railways intersect. No way… there is no sanctuary. People just  _ inviting _ strangers in? It's gotta be a prank. Some cruel joke.

"What do you think?" Michonne questions, eyes on Rick.

"Let's go," he says, deliberating only a moment before answering. "Let's go."

*Daryl's POV*

There's a herd on our tail. Beth and I tear through the woods, desperately seeking the road. A car. Shelter. Anything. We burst through the trees onto the road, the only car in sight being an old, beat up Lincoln. The keys are still hanging in the ignition, which is probably the first sign that it ain't goin' nowhere. Would've been long gone otherwise. Still, Beth tries it, turning the key futilely. It don't start and we're out of options. I fling the trunk open, the two of us packing ourselves inside like a couple of sardines as thunder rumbles through the night sky.

We can hear them, snarls becoming louder as they draw nearer and nearer. I take my red rag outta my back pocket and tie the trunk down, hoping like hell the rain starts soon. It'll dilute our scent, make the herd move on quicker. Sure enough, the storm breaks and the walkers lumber right on by, jostling the car some but mostly 'cause they're clumsy. They ain't trying to get in.

We end up staying the night locked inside the trunk, waiting out the storm and the herd as they both pass us by. It ain't exactly roomy in here, and I find myself increasingly uncomfortable with the side of her body pressed up against my legs. Still, uncomfortable is better than dead. Dawn breaks and we're finally free to leave the close quarters, Beth hopping out first and stretching her legs. Beth's a talker. I ain't. Makes for a lot of awkward silences, but she seems to have picked up that I don't much feel like conversation. Scares the animals away, for one thing. So she don't talk much anymore. That's fine with me. Together we scavenge the car for any usable parts, finding next to nothing, and continue on down the road, back into the cover of the trees.

We make camp, using the car parts to assist in getting a fire started and setting up makeshift walker alarms. Beth is a bit childish. Naive. She's everybody's little sister, really. She don't live in a bubble or nothin', but we shield her from as much as we can. She's… sensitive. But she's also a quick learner and she ain't afraid to do the dirty work we gotta do to survive out here. Sometimes I wonder if Beth now is what Adrienne might've been like a decade ago. Adie would've been a lot rougher around the edges, probably. But the stubbornness, the impulsivity… they've both got that shit in spades. She don't wear her sweetness on her sleeve like Beth, but she's got that, too. Had. She had that.

There ain't much left to hunt these days. A squirrel or two here and there, but tonight all I could scrounge up was a snake. At least it's meat. Protein. Better than just starving. Beth is hesitant, barely picking at the meat while I devour my portion. Food's food. She'll get that eventually. If she don't die first.

"I need a drink," she announces.

Not sure why her legs suddenly ain't working, but whatever. I toss the old soda bottle we've been collecting water in over to her. She let's it land with a thump on the ground beside her.

"No, I mean a real drink," she amends. "As in alcohol."

Is she serious right now? Do I look like I got time to traipse about all over the damn place looking for booze? I ignore her. That's worked before, ignoring her. She usually lets shit go. 

Not this time.

"I've never had one," she continues. "'Cause of my dad. But he's not exactly around anymore, so… I thought we could go find some."

I remain silent. We ain't doin' this. She's barely 18, hell's she think she needs a drink for? Then again, I guess I was only 11 or 12 the first time Merle gave me a shot of whiskey. The same age I was when I started smoking, too. Jesus, that's gotta be damn near 25 years ago now. That was different, anyway. Beth's…  _ Beth. _ I was just some punk kid, didn't give a shit about the world or anybody in it except Merle.

"Okay," she huffs, getting to her feet. "Well, enjoy your snake jerky."

She snatches her knife and wanders off into the woods. She'll be back. And this ain't jerky, neither. Might enjoy it more if it was. Might have a little fucking flavor. She ain't gone two minutes before I hear them. Walkers, at least three. With a sigh, I get to my feet and race after her, afraid I'm already too late, that I was too slow and she's dead. I knew it would happen sooner or later, but I ain't ready, I ain't ready to be alone.

When I get to her, though, she's fine. She's gonna die, but not this time. Not this time. She'd outsmarted 'em, tossing a rock into the trees furthest from her. The walkers changed course, bypassed her entirely, following the sound. Killing them ain't necessary and ain't worth the time or goddamn effort, anyway. We head back towards camp, circling around a different way than we'd come to avoid the walkers. She's still on about the drink, though. I think she thinks I came after her 'cause I gave in to her whim. Let her think what she wants, we're going back to camp.

"I'm pretty sure we gotta go that way to find the booze," she says, pointing vaguely. "What the hell?"

She's just stumbled over our walker alarm, hub caps on a string clanking together obnoxiously. Adie came up with the idea back at the quarry camp. Shane didn't seem to think the idea was worth a damn, but it is. Tin cans, glass bottles, anything that makes noise when you string a few together. Walkers walk right into 'em, even stumble and fall sometimes. With a pang, I remember that day at the Big Spot.  _ Obnoxious noises are kinda your thing, _ Glenn told her. I didn't say nothin' at the time and maybe I should've, 'cause the way I see it, it ain't obnoxious using noise against the walkers. It's smart.

"You brought me back?" Beth questions indignantly. "I'm not staying in this  _ suck-ass _ camp!"

She flips me the bird and turns on her heel. Hell, no. I grab her by the arm, pulling her back towards our suck-ass camp.

"Hey!" I snap. "You had your fun."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" She demands, shaking me off. "Do you feel anythin'?"

Hell's this girl think she knows about what I do or don't feel? What, 'cause I ain't crying myself to sleep at night or wasting my time thinking anyone we know's alive and well, I don't feel nothin'? Of course I fucking do. Everything we lost, all our people just fucking  _ gone… _ I feel that. I'm trying not to, but  _ fuck, I feel it. _

"Yeah, you think everything's screwed," she continues. "I guess that's a feelin'. Mopin' around 'cause  _ Adie's _ not here instead of  _ lookin' _ for her, that's a feelin' too. So you wanna spend the rest of our lives starin' into a fire and eatin' mud snakes? Screw that! We might as well do somethin'! I can take care of myself and I'm gonna get a damn drink."

Spoiled, obnoxious, childish… take care of herself, my ass. Mud snakes. I can just hear Adrienne laughing it up in my head. Yeah, she'd laugh. But she'd still eat the damn mud snake, I'd bet on that shit. She ain't prissy. Wasn't. Wasn't prissy. And I ain't moping, neither. Just know to call a spade a spade. Everyone we know is dead. Including Adie. Looking would just be a waste of time, energy. Same as going out looking for booze.

Still, I follow Beth. Gotta protect her, keep her alive as long as I can. Ain't like I'm busy. We eventually stumble our way across a golf course. A country club, situated right here in the middle of the woods as though the rich bitch snobs who came here before could appreciate nature for what it is without making alterations. Tailoring it to their needs. I hate it here already.

"Golfers like to booze it up, right?" Beth questions, eyeing a small group of walkers approaching us from the other end of the green. "Come on."

Do I fucking  _ look _ like I know what golfers like? We trek our way across the course up to the clubhouse. Pine Vista Country Club.  _ Vista. _ Jesus, even the name of the place is pretentious.

"Might be people inside," Beth murmurs, eyeing the structure.

Thunder rumbles as the group of walkers continue to shamble towards us. We have to try a couple different doors before we find one that ain't locked and make our way inside. The room appears to have been the site of a mass suicide, a few well dressed and thrashing walkers hanging from the ceiling above several other, better dressed, definitely dead corpses. The kind of people who had looked at people like me and Merle with disgust. Like we wasn't good for nothin' but shining their thousand dollar shoes.

There's money here, too. Stacks of hundred dollar bills banded together, littering the floor among diamond rings and strings of pearls like my mother used to wish for. Don't look like it did these people any fucking good, did it? I ain't sure why, but I start shoveling the jewelry and stacks of money into my pack. Ain't like it means nothin' these days.

But I still want it.

"Why are you keepin' all that stuff?" Beth questions, staring at me while I feverishly jam wads of cash into my bag.

Even if I had an explanation, there ain't time to give it to her. The walkers from the course have made their way to the doors, banging against them mindlessly. They'll be there until the doors give. We sprint from the room and stumble our way into the kitchen. The dirty underbelly of the place, all function, no flair. This place was meant for the staff, didn't need to be fancy or nothin'. I hate it here. Still, they got cinnamon sticks. That's all that's left in the pantry. Cinnamon sticks. Must've eaten all their caviar and snails before deciding to spend eternity hanging from the rafters. Opting out. How goddamn rich do you need to be before you're too good for fucking cinnamon?

Suddenly, the terrible snarling of the not quite dead breaks the silence, a single walker emerging from the shadows and attacking Beth. By the time I get to her, she's got a handle on it, plunging her knife into the head of her assailant. First one she's killed on her own since we escaped the prison.

"Thanks for the help," she snarks sarcastically.

"You said you could take care of yourself," I point out. "You did."

We continue to prowl through the place, happening upon a gift shop. Seems a little out of place. An exclusive gift shop? What the fuck for? Beth heads straight for a rack of overpriced and ugly clothes. I turn and duck my head while she exchanges her ratty old top for a yellow polo shirt that is somehow worth more than all the other yellow polo shirts out there in the world even though it's the exact same shit, and a white cardigan. Peering around the room, she spots a corpse that's been cut in half and placed on mannequin legs. It's female, her sweater torn open and exposing her torso. Someone's hung a sign around her rotted neck.

RICH BITCH

Original. Beth is clearly bothered by it, though.

"Help me take her down," she murmurs, attempting to pull the body from the mannequin.

"It don't matter, she's dead," I point out.

"It does matter!" She counters, eyes flashing.

"Here," I tell her, lifting a large sheet from the counter and placing it over the body.

Best we can do. Particularly if she wants to keep her fancy new clothes clean for longer than five minutes. We make our way from the gift shop back down a hallway, jumping when a grandfather clock chimes, the sudden noise jarring. We keep moving, but that damn clock attracted several walkers from other areas of the club. We run, but I'm fucking  _ tired _ of running. I turn and take them all on.

They go down just as easy as all the lower class walkers do, but being in this place… I just snap. I turn on the last walker, having abandoned my crossbow in favor of a golf club. I wail on him, bringing the putter down over and over again, and I don't stop, even when the end of the club snaps off, decades of aggression taking hold of me and not letting go until the dead sumbitch starts to resemble ground beef.

I look up and Beth is staring at me in horror, blood and brain matter soaking into the white cardigan she'd put on just a few minutes ago. She turns on her heel and sheds the ruined sweater, stalking out of the room. I grab my crossbow and follow her into the hallway, my outburst not having made me feel the least bit better. Actually, I feel like an asshole.

Beth didn't do nothin' to deserve being stuck with me. 

"We made it," she murmurs, the two of us finally having stumbled our way into the bar. "I know you think this is stupid," she says abruptly, wheeling around to face me. "And it probably is. But I don't care. All I wanted to do today was lay down and cry, but... we don't get to do that. Adie… Adie told me that once. We don't get to do that. So beat up on walkers if that makes you feel better. I need to do this."

With that, she whirls around and strides purposefully towards the bar. Well, at least we can get this shit over with. I follow her into the room, shattering the glass on some pompous, framed certificate, pulling it from the wall. I'm gonna burn it later. Hell, maybe the cash, too. You'd think with all that money, these douchebags would've been able to afford a better color for the walls in this shithole. Maybe  _ fetching-est eggplant. _ If I had to name this color, it'd just be moldiest mold. Adie would come up with something better.

"Did you have to break the glass?" Beth questions witheringly.

"No," I grunt, pulling the certificate from the frame. "You have your drink yet?"

"No," she says, holding a bottle. "But I found this. Peach Schnapps. Is it good?"

"No," I tell her honestly as she perches herself on a barstool.

"Well, it's the only thing left."

I ignore that last bit, having spotted a dart board. Fully loaded with real darts, not that plastic bullshit like in them shitty dive bars Merle loved so much. I gather them in my hand and turn towards the portraits of the rich CEO looking types that were patrons of this place back when riff raff like me couldn't sully its hallowed halls. I amuse myself launching darts at their smug faces while Beth considers her very important life decisions.

"Who needs a glass?" She questions defeatedly, every glass in the room either broken or bloody or both.

She ain't gonna drink it. She's eyeing the bottle like it holds all the answers, but deep down I think she knows she ain't gonna find what she's looking for in there. Jesus, and now she's crying again. I really don't know how to deal with this. She's just a damn kid. She's just a damn kid and I ain't been nice to her one time since we escaped. She lost all them people, too. Her dad. Her sister.

She thinks a drink is gonna make her feel better, I guess we're gonna go find the good shit. Peach Schnapps. Hell, no. The unbidden image of Adrienne shotgunning that bottle of Southern Comfort at the CDC like it was water suddenly flashes before my eyes.  _ Carl the only one who can get a drink around here? _ Peach fucking  _ Schnapps. _ She'd be horrified. Beth is crying in earnest now and I don't know what, but I need to  _ do _ something. So I snatch the bottle from the bar and hurl it to the floor.

"Ain't gonna have your first drink be no damned peach Schnapps," I announce, grabbing my crossbow and flinging open the exit door. "Come on."

-

"A motorcycle mechanic," Beth blurts some time later while we wander through the woods.

"Huh?" I grunt.

"That's my guess," she elaborates. "For what you were doin' before the turn. Did Zach ever guess that one?"

Zach. Another person dead that ain't supposed to be. That one's my fault, too.  _ Homicide cop, _ he'd guessed. Oh, and Adrienne, the way she'd laughed at him, them breathless giggles bubbling into the air… she was happy. I ain't never gonna hear that again.

"It don't matter," I mutter uncomfortably. "Hasn't mattered for a long time."

"It's just what people talk about," she defends her question. "You know, to feel normal."

Normal to them, maybe. Whenever  _ 'before' _ came up, regardless who was talking about it, it made me nervous. Like if they knew what I was before, they'd… I dunno, cast me out or some shit. They'd know I ain't worth nothin'. Not that it fucking matters now. They're dead.

"Yeah, well that never felt normal to me," I retort as we reach our destination. "Found this place with Adie 'n Michonne."

We'd been out tracking the Governor. It was a good day, just the three of us, away from everyone else back home. There was a kind of freedom I felt that day with just them two I didn't always feel at the prison with all them eyes on me. Adie had this way of loosening people up despite grim circumstances and, at her insistence, we'd all hung out on the porch of this shithole for a couple hours that afternoon,  _ takin' a goddamn breather for five fuckin' seconds, _ she'd said, each of us drinking just enough to feel good before moving on deeper into the woods.

"I was expectin' a liquor store," Beth says, eyeing the abandoned shack uncertainly.

"No, this is better," I assure her, heading towards the rundown shed just off the side of the house.

She follows me, standing in the doorway as I start gathering mason jars full of clear liquid in a crate.

"What's that?" She questions, and suddenly I feel like her degenerate uncle.

"Moonshine," I mutter, placing the crate in her hands and heading for the house. "Come on."

We shuffle through the front door and, unsurprisingly, the place is a real shithole on the inside, too. But at least it's empty. It's got walls. Beth takes a seat at the tiny table while I grab a glass from the cupboard, blowing inside to clear the accumulated dust before setting it in front of her. I unscrew the cap on the mason jar and pour a small amount into the glass. She don't need more than a sip. This ain't no peach Schnapps. You can't buy this shit in no damn liquor store.

"There," I tell her. "That's a real first drink right there."

I ain't never gonna admit it out loud, but part of me is looking forward to seeing her face when the taste registers on her tongue. Kinda like giving a lemon wedge or a dill pickle to a baby. Merle gave me so much shit for the way I'd taken my first sip of Jack. I didn't expect the bitterness, that biting, stinging burn in my throat. I choked, sputtering like a fucking idiot while Merle just laughed it up, calling me a pussy and a fucking lightweight. Beth don't seem too enthused now, just staring at the glass. Hell's her problem? Ain't this what she wanted?

"What's the matter?"

"Nothin'," she says too quickly, eyeing the glass nervously. "It's just… my dad always said bad moonshine can make you go blind."

"Ain't nothin' worth seein' out there anymore anyway," I point out, and she takes a small sip.

"That's the most disgusting thing I've ever tasted," she says breathlessly, but still she lifts the glass right back up to her lips and drains it. "Second round's better," she giggles, refilling her glass.

"Woah, slow down," I warn her.

"This one's for you," She informs me.

"Nah, I'm good." I wave her off.

"Why?"

"Someone's gotta keep watch."

"So, what, you're like my chaperone now?" She counters, annoyed.

"Just drink lots of water," I instruct, ignoring her question.

"Yes, Mr. Dixon," she says sarcastically.

-

We've decided to stay the night. First time in a while we've had walls to hide behind. Beth's entertaining herself, rummaging through the trailer trash treasure trove, while I nail large pieces of cardboard over the broken windows. Ain't gonna help much with sound, but we can get a fire going and not worry so much about light drawing the dead.

"Who'd go into a store and walk out with this?" Beth giggles, holding up a massive bubble gum pink ashtray shaped like a giant bra.

"My dad, that's who," I tell her, and she immediately looks contrite. "Oh, he's a dumbass. He'd set those up on top of the TV set, use 'em as target practice."

"He shot things inside your house?" She questions, horrified.

"It was just a buncha junk anyway," I wave off her concern. "That's how I knew what this place was. That shed out there? My dad had a place just like this. You got your dumpster chair. That's for sittin' in, in your drawers all summer, drinkin'. Got your fancy buckets. That's for spittin' chaw in after your ol' lady tells you to stop smokin'. And you got your, your internet," I finish, holding up an old newspaper.

Before she can say anything, we're interrupted by the snarls floating in through the broken window I'd just boarded up. I peer outside.

"It's just one," I tell her, unconcerned.

"Should we get it?"

"If he keeps makin' too much noise, yeah."

"Well, if we're gonna be trapped again, we might as well make the best of it," she points out, grabbing a jar of moonshine from the floor and holding it out to me, raising her eyebrows expectantly. "Unless you're too busy chaperoning, Mr. Dixon."

"Hell," I relent. "Might as well make the best of it."

I take the jar and hurl myself into the chair, crossing my legs and lifting the drink in a mock toast.

"Home, sweet home."

We drink. Last time I drank like this, Adrienne was there. Wonder if she'd be drinking, too, if she was here now. If she'd approve of me letting Beth drink. Wonder what she's doing, if she's doing anything at all.

*Adrienne's POV*

Lucky seems like a cuss word anymore, but I can't help but think it. We're lucky. We're lucky because we're together, me, Rick, Carl, and Michonne. We're lucky it rained and we had a couple bottles to collect the water in. We're lucky we had a tarp to rig up a tent during the storm. Carl, Rick, and Michonne are huddled under said tarp now, all of 'em sleeping while I keep watch.

There's something peaceful, despite the underlying fear that never really goes away, about being the only one awake. Just me and the crickets. But after an hour or so spent fiddling with the eye patch around my wrist, scratching off the dried blood, seconds creeping by like feet trudging through mud while I attempt to count the stars I can see winking at me from above the treetops, loneliness creeps in. That underlying fear takes hold, a frantic, thrumming itch just beneath my skin. What if the four of us really are the only ones who made it? What if we're all that's left? What if we get to Terminus and it's gone?

I'm trying to hold on, I really am. Trying to convince myself that if my people got out, they came across one of the Terminus signs. We've passed at least a dozen over the last two days. If Glenn or Maggie or Beth, Ty, Sasha… if  _ Daryl _ found one of those signs, that's where they'll be. I know it is, because on my own… if I saw those signs, I'd take the risk. I'd take the risk that it's nothing or that it's a trick, because I'd be betting on the others getting there, taking that risk, too.

_ Please. _

*Daryl's POV*

"Wanna play a game?" Beth questions abruptly.

What the hell, why not? I nod, taking another swig.

"You know I never?" She asks with a grin.

"No," I grunt.

"So first I say somethin' I've never done, and if you  _ have _ done it, you drink, and if you haven't,  _ I _ drink." She explains. "Then we switch. You really don't know this game?"

"I ain't never needed a game to get lit before," I tell her.

"Wait, are we startin'?" She slurs slightly.

"How do you know this game?" I question, squinting at little miss I need my first drink suspiciously.

"My friends played," she says defensively. "I watched. Okay, I'll start. I've never shot a crossbow. So now you drink."

"Ain't much of a game," I point out, taking a drink.

"That was a warm-up," she insists. "Now you go."

"Uh… I dunno," I'm suddenly nervous, I don't know why.

"Just say the first thing that pops into your head," she encourages.

"I've never been outta Georgia," I blurt.

"Really?" She arches her eyebrows, surprised. "Okay, good one," she takes a drink. "I've never… been drunk 'n did somethin' I regretted."

This shit's rigged. I take another drink.

"I've done a lotta things."

"Your turn."

"I've never been on vacation."

"What about campin'?"

"No, that was just somethin' I had to learn to hunt."

"Your dad teach you?"

"Mhmm."

My ol' man ain't a topic I like to discuss. Those were good days, though. He was never in a bad mood when we were out hunting. Hell, when I shot my first deer, he damn near cried, he was so excited. He was proud of me that day. Never lasted, though.

"Okay," she concedes, taking another gulp. "I've never… been in jail. I mean, as a prisoner."

"Is that what you think of me?" I question, eyeing her.

Maybe I didn't have the luxury of growing up on a big farm in a big house with a big family who actually gave a shit about me, but that don't mean I was a criminal. I know I shouldn't be this pissed off by the girl's assumptions, I did a lot of dumb shit with Merle I would've been locked up for if we got caught. I'm just… I'm just tired of being seen as some redneck piece of shit ain't never done nothin' good in his life. Hell, maybe I am. Maybe trying to be something to them people back at the prison never made a damn difference, maybe my past ain't something I can outrun or earn forgiveness for.

"I didn't mean anything serious," she backtracks. "I just thought, you know, like the drunk tank. Even my dad got locked up for that back in the day."

"Drink up," I tell her, somewhat smug.

"Wait," she says, disbelief coloring her face. "Prison guard. Were you a prison guard before?"

"No."

"It's  _ your _ turn again."

But I'm done. This game is fucking stupid. Just an excuse to make ass backwards assumptions about people. See if they live up to your bullshit stereotypes.

"I'm gon' take a piss."

I have myself up and drop the jar of moonshine on the floor, shattering both the glass and the relative quiet. Wish I hadn't drank so much. Shit's much stronger than I remembered and I'm drunk. I stomp noisily to the other side of the room, turning my back to the girl so I can relieve myself without showing her nothin'.

"You have to be quiet!" She whispers frantically.

"Can't hear ya, I'm takin' a piss!" I shout belligerently, so angry with her I can't see straight.

"Daryl, don't talk so loud," she begs, casting her eyes warily about the room.

"What, are you my chaperone now?" I demand.

Loudly.

I finish my business and zip myself up, turning back towards her.

"Oh, wait. It's my turn, right?" I question, faux excitement dripping from my still too loud voice. "I've never uh… never eaten frozen yogurt. Never had a  _ pet pony. _ Never got nothin' from Santa Claus!"

I can't stop. Alcohol brings out the worst in me, and for this girl to sit here, so damn ignorant about what life is like for kids without decent parents, decent siblings... The words spew out faster than I can even process them.

"Never relied on anyone for protection before!" I continue, yelling now. "Hell, I don't think I've ever relied on anyone for anything!"

"Daryl," she attempts to soothe, but this train's rolling on down the tracks and I can't or maybe I just don't want to stop it.

"Never sung out in front of a big group out in public like everything was fun! Like everything was a  _ big game. _ I sure as hell never cut my wrists lookin' for  _ attention! _ " The walker outside snarls restlessly. "Ah, sounds like our friend out there is tryin' to call all of 'is buddies!"

"Daryl, just shut up!" She pleads tearfully as I kick over a buncha glass dishes just to watch them break.

"Hey, you never shot a crossbow before?" I question sarcastically, grabbing her arm and pulling her out the door. "I'm gon' teach you right now. Come on, it's gonna be  _ fun! _ "

"We should stay inside!" She protests, but I ain't listening. "Daryl, cut it out! Daryl!"

We're in the yard now, the walker lumbering towards us.

"Dumbass," I hiss, raising my crossbow. "C'mere, dumbass!"

"Daryl!" Beth cries as I fire a bolt into the walker, pinning it to a tree.

"You wanna shoot?" I demand.

"I, I don't know how!" She protests as I pull her into my chest, placing the crossbow in front of her.

"Oh, it's easy!" I spit. "C'mere. Right corner!"

"Let's practice later!" Beth cries, wriggling from my grasp.

"C'mon, it's  _ fun. _ " I insist, loading up another bolt.

"Just stop it, Daryl!"

"C'mere," I hiss, pulling her back against my chest as I fire another arrow. "Eight ball!"

"Just kill it!"

"C'mere, Greene!" I snarl, stalking towards the walker. "Let's pull these out, get a little more target practice."

She's had enough though, and she lunges at the walker, running her knife through its skull.

"What the hell'd you do that for?" I shout. "I's havin' fun!"

"No, you were being a jackass!" She hollers. "If anyone found my dad or, or  _ Adrienne- _ "

"Don't!" I spit. "That ain't remotely the same!"

"Killing them is not supposed to be fun," she cries.

"What do you want from me, girl?" I snarl. "Huh?"

"I want you to stop actin' like you don't give a crap about anything!" She yells. "Like nothin' we went through matters, like none of the people we lost  _ meant _ anything to you! It's  _ bullshit! _ "

"Is that what you think?" I question quietly, glaring at her.

"That's what I know."

"You don't know nothin'."

"I know you look at me 'n you just see another dead girl!" She retorts. "I'm not Adie, I'm not Michonne, I'm not Carol, I'm not Maggie... I've survived and you don't get it 'cause I'm not like you or them! But I made it and you don't get to treat me like crap just because you're afraid!"

"I ain't afraid of nothin'." I hiss.

"I remember," she snaps. "When that little girl came outta the barn after my mom."

Sophia. Jesus, it's like the list of people I didn't save just don't fucking end ever.

"You were like me," she nods to herself, then moves closer and I'm afraid for just a second she's gonna hit me. "And now god forbid you ever let anybody get too close!"

"Too close, huh?" I snap derisively, hollering again. "You know all about that. You lost two boyfriends, you can't even shed a  _ tear! _ Your whole family's gone, all you can do is jus' go out lookin' for hooch like some dumb college bitch!"

"Screw you, you don't get it," she snarks.

"No,  _ you _ don't get it!" I fire back. "Everyone we know is dead!"

"You don't  _ know _ that!"

"Might as well be, 'cause you ain't never gon' see 'em again!" I yell. "Adrienne. Rick. You ain't never gonna see Maggie again!"

"Daryl, just stop!" She cries, attempting to pull me back inside.

"No!" I snap, shaking her off.

But the wind is knocked out of my sails. Adrienne is  _ dead. _ They're all dead, or as good as. And it's my fault. That's why I can't go back, that's why I can't look. If I don't look, I ain't never gonna know for sure, and part of me  _ needs  _ the uncertainty. Because maybe they made it. Maybe I ain't responsible for killing everybody I give a shit about.

"The Governor rolled right up to our gates," I shout weakly, deflating, hating my voice for cracking. "Maybe if I wouldn't've stopped lookin'. Maybe 'cause I gave up, that's on me."

"Daryl."

"No," I push her away again. "And your dad. Maybe… maybe I coulda done somethin'."

She hurls herself at my back, carrying about as much force as a large toddler, wrapping her arms around me, and I can't fight anymore. I can't. Hershel, Adrienne, Maggie, Michonne, Carl, Rick, the baby… gone. Because of me. Just when I thought I had Adie back. When I thought we had  _ time... _ I let Beth hold me and crumble, sobbing like a lost child in her arms, wishing they were Adie's and hating myself for it.

Eventually we're back on the porch, sitting in drunken silence as the night grows darker around us. It's so quiet. Peaceful. The sky is clear, cloudless, and without all the lights from cars and buildings and people how they used to be, the stars look so much closer to us. Scanning the sky, I spot a constellation that, to me at least, looks like some kind of fucked up, broken swastika.

_ That's Hercules. _

Adie's voice in my head like she's here, right next to me. She ain't. She was the night she told me about Hercules, though. We were on watch together almost a month ago.

_ See it? How they make that square in the middle? _

_ Mhmm. _

_ That's called Hercules Keystone. _

She told me all about Hercules that night while we walked the yard for perimeter check. I remember her nose wrinkling when she explained to me how Hercules is actually just a ' _ bastardized version' _ of Heracles, half hero, half god. I remember her wry chuckle at how wrong Disney got the story. Heracles was never accepted as a god, at least not outside certain circles of Athenians. He was just another hero, and they had a lot of those. He wasn't nothin' special to them.

_ He's my… he's my dad's favorite. _

Of course he was. The Governor relating to a half god hero who was never paid his due? Seems fitting.  _ Which one's your favorite?  _ I'd asked her, and she grinned and said _ The Chained Lady. _ Andromeda, Cassiopeia's daughter.  _ You ever hear the story? _ I hadn't, 'cause where the fuck would I? She launched into this myth about some douchebag named Cepheus who sacrificed his daughter, Andromeda, to a sea monster to save his kingdom, and how the hero, Perseus, saved her. Cheeks flushed, bright eyes never straying from the sky, she filled my head with legends that night and while she was watching the stars, I was watching her.

_ You can't see her now, not 'til winter, but she's up there. Perseus, too. _

"I get why my dad stopped drinkin'," Beth blurts.

"You feel sick?" I croak.

"Nope," she says, smiling. "I wish I could feel like this all the time. That's bad."

"Hm," I grunt, starting to sober up. "You're lucky you're a happy drunk."

"Yeah, I'm lucky," she agrees. "Some people can be real jerks when they drink."

"Yeah," I concede. "I'm a dick when I'm drunk."

"Did Adie ever see you like this?" She asks quietly, avoiding my eyes.

"Nah. Not wasted," I mutter. "We drank together here, just me, her, 'n Michonne. And once back in Atlanta. I's a dick to her. Long time ago. That girl could drink us both under the table and still be goin' in the mornin'."

"I believe it," she replies, smiling fondly.

"You said you ain't like her…" I murmur. "You are, though."

She's silent, her smile growing wider as she considers this. She is like Adrienne. Softer, sweeter, a little more innocent and a lot more naive… but she can be just as tough. She just don't know it yet.

"Merle had this dealer," I blurt, seeing the memory unfold like a movie in my head. "This janky little white guy. Tweaker. One day we were over at his house watchin' TV. Wasn't even noon yet 'n we were all wasted. Merle was high. We were watchin' this show 'n Merle was talkin' all this dumb shit about it. 'N he wouldn't let up. Merle never could. Turns out it was the tweaker's kid's favorite show. And he never sees his kid, so he felt guilty about it or somethin'. So he punches Merle in the face. So I started hittin' the tweaker, like, hard, hard as I can. Then he pulls a gun, sticks it right here."

She's rapt, hanging on my every word as I point to my temple.

"He says  _ 'I'm gonna kill you, bitch,' _ " I continue. "So Merle pulls his gun on 'im. Everyone's yellin', I'm yellin'. I thought I was dead. Over a... dumb cartoon about a talkin' dog."

"How'd you get out of it?" She asks, head cocked to one side.

"Tweaker punched me in the gut," I tell her, glaring at the porch. "I puked. They both started laughin' 'n forgot all about it."

I didn't, though. Ain't the first time I thought I was dead 'cause I was trying to protect Merle. Wasn't the last, neither. Hell, I don't remember a single damn time he ever put himself in that position for me, not until the day he died.  _ He's your brother. But he's not good for you. _ That's what Carol said. She was right. But I loved him anyway.

"You wanna know what I was before all this?" I question softly. "I was just driftin' around with Merle… doin' whatever he said we were gon' be doin' that day. I was nobody. Nothin'. Jus' some redneck asshole 'n... an even bigger fuckin' asshole for a brother."

"You miss 'im, don't you?" She questions softly, and I nod 'cause I do. "I miss Maggie. I miss her bossin' me around. I miss my big brother, Shawn. He was so annoying and overprotective. 'N my dad… I thought, I hoped he'd just live the rest of his life in peace, you know? I thought Maggie 'n Glenn would have a baby. And he'd get to be a grandpa. And we'd have birthdays 'n holidays 'n summer picnics. Weddings."

She eyes me pointedly and I know she means me and Adrienne. I'd like to scoff, but her picture of the future ain't bad. Just unrealistic. Weddings… that shit was a pipe dream even before.

"And he'd get really old," she continues. "And it'd happen, but it'd be quiet. It'd be okay. He'd be surrounded by people he loved. That's how unbelievably stupid I am."

She laughs through her tears and takes another drink.

"That's how it was s'posed to be," I point out. 

"I wish I could just… change," she admits.

"You  _ did. _ "

"Not enough," she insists. "Not like you. It's like… you were made for how things are now."

"I'm just used to this, things bein' ugly," I tell her honestly. "Growin' up in a place like this."

"Well, you got away from it."

"I didn't," I protest automatically, but now I ain't so sure.

"You  _ did. _ "

"Maybe you gotta keep on remindin' me sometimes."

"No," she says. "You can't depend on anybody for anythin', right? I'll be gone someday."

"Stop."

I can't lose anyone else. She's all I got left. Might as well just be me and her left in the whole world and maybe I can keep her safe, maybe I can save this one.

"I will," she continues. "You're gonna be the last man standin'. You are. You're gonna miss me so bad when I'm gone, Daryl Dixon."

"Man, you ain't a happy drunk at all," I breathe.

"Yeah, I'm happy, I'm just not blind," she retorts. "You gotta stay who you are, not who you were. Places like this, you have to put it away."

"What if you can't?" I question.

"You have to," she's adamant. "Or it kills you. Here," she points to her heart. "You're gonna make it, Daryl. Find Adie, 'cause she's out there. I know it. You'll see. And you'll be happy."

"We should go inside," I tell her, not liking the way she's talking like she's dead already.

"We should burn it down," she says abruptly, grinning.

That's a bad idea. Batshit insane. Stupid and irresponsible and fucking  _ reckless. _ I get to my feet, considering the mostly empty jar of moonshine.

"We're gonna need more booze."

We spend a few glorious minutes dousing everything inside the dilapidated shithole with wild abandon before making our way outside. This place could be an exact fucking replica of where I'd grown up. We're gonna destroy it. Let it become ashes.

"You wanna?" I ask her, holding out a matchbook.

"Hell, yeah," she grins, striking a match and lighting the crisp stack of bills in my hand.

The cash catches fire and I toss it onto the porch, watching as the house is almost immediately engulfed in flames. We head off into the night, but Beth stops for one last look at our felony. She raises her middle finger, nudging me until I follow suit. Fuck you. It ain't who I am anymore. Never was. And I don't have to carry it around with me ever again.


	47. Let's Just Get There

**Chapter 47**

"Are we close?"

I've spent most of the day teaching Beth how to use a crossbow, how to hunt. She ain't a bad learner. Should be on her ass after all the booze last night, but she ain't. Must be something you lose when you get older. That bounce back. Teaching her, though… makes me miss Adie. Miss the hours we'd spent in the woods, teaching her how to track. Only ever got through the basics. Thinking about her just about kills me, it hurts so bad.  _ Be safe. Come back. I love you _ . Her voice echoes around my head if I let it. Wish I'd had more time with her. Wish I could believe Beth when she insists she ain't gone. Fuck, everything makes me miss her.

"Almost done," I murmur, shaking thoughts of Adrienne out of my head.

"How do you know?" Beth questions, adjusting her aim.

"The signs are all there," I tell her. "Jus' gotta know how to read 'em."

"What're we trackin'?" She asks, somewhat impatiently.

"You tell me," I counter. "You're the one who wanted to learn."

"Well, somethin' came through here," she says hesitantly, eyeing the ground. "The pattern's all zig-zaggy. It's a walker."

"Maybe it's a drunk," I retort, but she's right and she knows it.

"I'm gettin' good at this," she announces confidently, raising the bow once more. "Pretty soon I won't need you at all."

"Yeah, keep on trackin'," I tell her, following her following the tracks.

I need her to need me, though. If I ain't needed somewhere, there ain't much point in living. Ironically, she's saving my life letting me save hers every so often. She stops needing me, I ain't sure what the hell I'll do. 'Cause I'm damn sure I'll still need her. There ain't much point breathing if I'm alone. We break through the trees and spot the walker, Beth freezing in her tracks.

"It's got a gun," she whispers.

It's in the middle of a clearing, chowing down on some poor bastard. Beth approaches quietly, crossbow raised and ready to fire. Then she goes down. Bear trap? Regardless, the walker's spotted her, it's heading right for her. She fires a bolt, but it ain't quite high enough. I tear towards her, snatching up my crossbow and crushing its skull with the blunt end. Before it hits the ground I'm back to Beth, tending to her ankle.

"Can you move it?" I question, releasing her foot from the trap.

"Yeah," she whimpers hesitantly, rolling her ankle about.

I help her to her feet and she winces, not able to put weight on the bad foot. Shit. We gotta find shelter, walls. She ain't gonna be able to run if we have to, and we  _ always  _ have to run when we're out here. She throws an arm over my shoulder and we make our slow way from the woods, eventually ending up in a cemetery.

"Can we, can we hold up a sec?" She huffs.

"You all right?"

"I just need to sit down," she says apologetically, rolling her ankle in slow circles.

We ain't got time for that. There's a mortuary on the far side of the cemetery, we can make it before it's completely dark if… oh, hell.

"All right, hold up," I tell her, turning my crossbow so it hangs in front of me and crouching. "Hop on."

"Are you serious?" She questions, chuckling in dismay.

"Yeah, this is a serious piggyback. Jump up," I grunt, rolling my eyes, and she does. "You're heavier than you look."

Jesus, why the hell did I say that? I can practically  _ feel _ Merle smack me upside the head from wherever the hell death took him.  _ That ain't no way to talk to a lady, little brother. _ She is, though. Heavier than she looks. Solid.

"Maybe there are people there," she muses, mercifully ignoring the rude comment.

"Yeah, if there are I'll handle 'em," I assure her.

"There're still good people, Daryl," she points out as I carry her through the graveyard.

"I don't think the good ones survive," I counter, but she's suddenly slipping off my back.

She stands, frozen in place, staring sadly at an old headstone. I squint at the inscription.

NOV. 12TH 1837

DEC. 10TH 1874

BELOVED FATHER

Oh. 

I grab a handful of wild daises growing behind us and lay them on top of the stone. It ain't her dad, but the symbolism can't hurt nothin'. We stand there a few more moments, then she slips her hand into mine. She laces our fingers together and I'm immediately reminded of the last hand I held. If I close my eyes I can almost pretend she's here, like the small fingers slotted between mine belong to her. She'd be teasing me about Beth's supposed  _ 'schoolgirl crush'  _ on me, like she and Carol did back at the prison, and I'd scoff and she'd get that damn look on her face like she knows something I don't. It's a look that, on anyone else, pisses me off, but on her...

But she ain't here.

Right now, it might as well be just me and Beth left in the entire world. I'm gonna protect her. I'm gonna keep her safe. I'm gonna save this one. Eventually, the moment passes and she scrambles onto my back. We reach the mortuary and she slips onto her own two feet while I rap on the doorframe, luring any walkers lurking inside out to me. Nothing comes, but I'm not ready to go in just yet. I whistle.

"Give it a minute," I murmur.

Nothing. We head inside and something ain't right. This place don't look rundown like it should. Someone stays here.

"It's so clean," Beth observes.

"Yeah," I nod, looking around. "Someone's been tendin' to it. May still be around."

We work our way down to the basement without incident. This place… a goddamn funeral home, of all places. Walker free. A place dedicated to death, untouched by this new world. The one place death is expected to be is the one place it ain't everywhere. Ironic. We've stumbled upon the preparation room. Two walkers are on surgical tables, one of them halfway made up, both in their Sunday best, like for an actual funeral. And I thought I was fucked up.

"Let's get that ankle wrapped," I suggest, searching the cupboards for medical supplies.

Beth ain't listening though. She's staring at the bodies, an emotion I can't quite place coloring her face. Disgust, maybe? Sadness?

"Looks like somebody ran outta dolls to dress up," I quip, attempting to reassure her.

"It's beautiful," she protests, affronted. "Whoever did this  _ cared. _ They wanted these people to get a funeral. They remembered these things were people before all this. They didn't let it change them in the end. Don't you think that's beautiful?"

Beautiful ain't the word that comes to mind, but I guess I can see her point. Someone still cares. I guess that's beautiful in its own rite.

"Come on," I grunt, gesturing for her to lean against the counter so I can wrap her ankle.

Once her ankle is taken care of, we set out in search of food. Gotta be a kitchen here somewhere. We hit the jackpot. There is, indeed, a kitchen here, with an empty fridge and emptier cupboards. With the exception of one.

"Peanut butter 'n jelly, diet soda, 'n pigs feet," I list off, eyeing the contents of the cupboard. "That's a white trash brunch right there."

"It all looks good to me," she announces, pulling jars and cans from the shelves.

"No, hold up," I stop her. "Ain't a speck of dust on this."

"So?" She questions, not getting the point just yet.

"That means somebody just put it here," I point out. "This is someone's stash. Maybe they're still alive. All right, we'll take some of it and we'll leave the rest, all right?"

"I knew it," she grins.

"Knew what?" I ask, unscrewing the cap on a jar of jelly.

"It's like I said, there's still good people," she eyes me pointedly.

"Mm," I grunt, shoving a couple fingers full of jelly into my mouth, jiggling the jar, the contents making this wet, slapping sort of sound.

"Gross!" She exclaims, disgusted as she takes her peanut butter over to the table.

"Oh, hey," I stop her, pointing at the other jars in the cupboard. "Those pig's feet are mine."

Once we've eaten, I head outside to set up a walker alarm outside the door. When I come back inside, Beth is playing the piano in the viewing room, her voice soft and beautiful as she sings along.

"And we'll buy a beer to shotgun and we'll lay on our lawn and we'll be good…"

Her approach to music is so different from Adrienne's. Sweeter, more innocent. The melody is comforting and I can't help but stare for a moment or two. Then I feel like a creep.

"The place is nailed up tight," I say, startling her, her fingers faltering on the keys. "Only way in's through the front door."

"What're you doin'?" She questions, eyeing me as I hop into the open casket at the front of the room.

"This is the comfiest bed I've had in years," I announce, lying down and settling in.

"Really?" She asks derisively.

"I ain't kiddin'," I sigh. "Why don't you go ahead 'n play some more? Keep singin'."

"I'm really no good, anyways," she protests shyly. "Not like Adie."

"Nah, you ain't like her," I blurt. "That don't mean you ain't as good."

"I thought my singin' annoyed you," she counters.

"Well, there ain't no jukebox, so…"

She smiles and turns back to the piano, picking up where she left off.

"And we'll buy a beer to shotgun and we'll lay on our lawn and we'll be good. Now I'm laughin' at my boredom, and my string of failed attempts..."

It's soothing. Some things really are still beautiful. I close my eyes, trying to pick out where Adrienne would harmonize, wondering if she'd even be singing at all after everything... she and Beth sang together sometimes, when things were calm. Safe. I never shoulda thrown it in Beth's face. It ain't a game to her. She's just tryin' to hold on.

-

"You gon' pick up your feet 'n move?" I demand as Beth hobbles towards the kitchen the next morning.

"I'm goin' as fast as I can," she fires back, but I ain't having it.

"Fuck that," I mutter, scooping her up into my arms, carrying her into the room and placing her carefully at the table. "Here you go."

Diet soda and pigs feet never looked so good, to be honest. Ain't what I'd pick if we could go to the grocery store, but we don't got that kind of luxury these days. Guess your idea of luxury changes when there ain't nothin' left.

"All right," I sigh, dropping into the chair across from her. "Let's eat."

Before either of us can even open a jar or can of anything, something outside stumbles over our walker alarm. I snatch up my crossbow, Beth moving to follow me out.

"Stay," I order, and she remains seated.

I open the front door cautiously, hoping there ain't too many out there. But it ain't walkers. A mangy dog, starving and blind in one eye, pants happily up at me. I like him immediately.

"It's just a damn dog," I holler to Beth, relieved, crouching down and reaching out towards the animal. "Hi. C'mere, boy."

But he's spooked, yelps and tears off the porch and out into the cemetery. So much for that. I close the door as Beth appears behind me.

"He wouldn't come in?"

"I told you stay back," I glare half-heartedly.

"Yeah, but, Daryl... you said there was a dog," She protests with a grin, sounding so like Adrienne it tears my heart out.

"Maybe he'll come back around," I tell her, guiding her back into the kitchen. "C'mon."

-

We stay through the day, but the dog is long gone. Probably some dead assholes ate him for lunch, but I won't tell Beth that. It's time to leave, though. Just how it is now, gotta keep moving. We'll stay one more night, but then we're gonna get back on the road before we have any more unexpected house guests.

"I'm gonna leave a thank you note," Beth announces, pen and paper already in hand.

"Why?" I blurt, spooning jelly into my mouth.

"For when they come back," she says, like it's the simplest thing. " _ If _ they come back… even if they're not comin' back, I still wanna say thanks."

"Maybe you don't have to leave that," I say, considering. "Maybe we stick around here for a while. They come back, we'll just make it work. I mean, they may be nuts, but… maybe it'll be all right."

Beth's smiling like she's just won the lottery, but there's a voice in my head that sounds a hell of a lot like Adrienne askin' me if I've lost my damn mind. If I'm sure it's safe. Truth is, nowhere's safe anymore. Here's as good as anywhere. The voice seems to accept that quicker than the real Adrienne ever would.

"So you do think there are still good people around," Beth says smugly, and when I just shrug she giggles. "What changed your mind?"

She did. She's the only reason I'm still around. She's not a kid anymore. She ain't quite an adult yet, neither. She's in that in-between part of life you're supposed to spend figuring out what you wanna do with yourself. She'd probably be off to college or planning a June wedding with Jimmy, in another life. But this life, here, now, it's made her tough. Tougher than she knows, but she ain't let that turn her hard. Even after everything, she still sees beauty in the world. Makes me think maybe I can, too. That I can be good.

"You know," I mutter, not wanting to say all that out loud.

"What?" She presses.

"I dunno," I mumble, suddenly shy.

"Don't… uhnmnn," she mocks with a grin, eyeing me. "What changed your mind?"

I hold her gaze and she knows. I can't tell her why. I don't think it's even clear to me why. She's become my reason. Alone out here… I'd never make it. She's so sure I'll make it back to Adrienne, that we're gonna find our people, but all I see is right here and now. Adie ain't here, maybe she ain't even alive, maybe none of 'em are. Having to deal with that alone? I'd have thrown in the towel ages ago. Beth being around gives me a reason to be around. The only reason. I think I love her for that. She don't make my heart beat faster like Adie does, but I love her. I love her like I love Carol. Before I can even begin to figure out what to tell her without making it weird, that dog's back, barking at our door.

"I'm gon' give that mutt one more chance," I announce, snatching a pig's foot from the open jar.

I head towards the door, pulling it open with no hesitation. But it ain't the dog. Walkers, more than we can feasibly take on ourselves, especially not having been prepared and with Beth's hurt ankle.

"Beth!" I holler, trying to hold the door shut. "Beth!"

She appears with my crossbow and tosses it to me. We need to get the hell outta here.

"Run!" I shout, waving her along. "Run!"

I let the door fly open, taking out the first one as we fly through the halls.

"Beth! Pry open a window, get your shit!"

"I'm, I'm not gonna leave you!"

But this ain't an option.

"Go out!" I command. "Go up the road, I'll meet you there! Go!"

She listens. Or at least, I think she does. Hard to tell for sure over the feverish snarls of the walkers, but she ain't following me.

"This way!" I holler, desperately trying to keep the walkers focused on me so Beth can make it out.

I lead them into the preparation room with them dressed up bodies. I scramble into a corner, pulling one of the surgical tables with me, placing it between the walkers and my body. They keep coming, and I keep taking them out. There's too many. I crawl out under the table, fighting my way from the room, up the stairs and out the door. When I get to the road, it's too late. Beth is gone, the contents of her bag splayed over the road. I'm staring at the bag, unable to process what I'm seeing, when tires squeal behind me. A car with a simple white cross on the back peels down the road, and I know, I  _ know, _ Beth's in there.

"Beth!" I scream, tearing after the vehicle. "Beth!"

And I run. I run all night, chasing the car long after it's out of sight. I can't track it. I can't run anymore. I keep trying. Keep pushing. Keep going until my muscles are on fire, air like knives pumping in and out of my lungs, sweat drenching my body. I push until I reach a fork in the road. I can't tell which way the car went. There's nothing here, no sign, no treads,  _ nothing. _ She's gone. I lost her. I lose everyone I love.

I collapse to the ground and sob.

-

I don't know how long I've been here. Long enough the tears have dried and so has the sweat and the sun is almost directly overhead. All I can do is stare at the ground, the faces of everyone I've failed floating in and out of my mind like old Polaroids. Sophia. Adrienne. Hershel. Andrea. Beth. Carol. Lori. T-Dog. Merle. Oscar. Axel. Glenn, Maggie, Rick, Michonne, Carl, Judith, Bob, Sasha, Ty, Lizzie, Mica... an endless loop.

"Well, lookit here," a voice breaks into my thoughts.

Some guy. Nah. Seven guys. This ain't good. The man who spoke makes a move on me, reaching down like he's gonna take my crossbow, and it's time to fight again. About all I'm good for. Fightin'. I punch him, snatching my crossbow and aiming at the man's head, but I'm surrounded. Outnumbered. This is the end.

"Damn it, hold up!" The man orders.

"I'm claimin' the vest," one of the other men pipes up. "I like them wings."

"Hold up," the evident leader repeats firmly, wiping his now bloody nose and cackling like a fucking loon as he gets to his feet. "A bowman. I respect that. See, a man with a rifle, he coulda been some kinda photographer or soccer coach back in the day, but… a bowman's a bowman, through and through. What you got there, 150 pound draw weight?"

The hell's this guy want from me? I don't like him.

"I'll be donkey-licked if that thing don't fire at least 300 feet per second," he continues conversationally. "I've been lookin' for a weapon like that.'Course, I'd want one with a bit more ammo and uh, minus the oblongata stains."

He and one of the others chuckle at that, but it ain't a joke. No. That was a threat. I don't have the resources to take these guys on. They know it.

"Get yourself in some trouble, partner?" The man behind me jeers.

"You pull that trigger, these boys are gonna drop you several times over," the leader promises. "That what you want?"

It might be at this point. What do I really got to lose? Everyone I love is dead or gone.

_ You don't know that! _

"C'mon, fella," the man urges. "Suicide is stupid. Why hurt yourself when you can hurt other people?"

Jackass.

"Name's Joe," he smirks.

I've made my decision. Roll with these assholes until I can get away. Just for now. Just for a while until I can figure out how to be okay with being alone. I lower my weapon.

"Daryl."

*Adrienne's POV*

"I think we got about a day's worth of water left," Rick announces. "We're lucky it's cooled off a little bit, but-"

Christ. We've been on these tracks for days, making camp just off the side of them each night, watching our supplies dwindle with no sign of replenishment. The only thing keeping me going right now is the thought that maybe the others, that  _ Daryl, _ might have happened upon one of those Terminus signs. Maybe he's on his way there. Maybe he's there already. Maybe he's alive. Maybe. Please be alive. He has to be.

"Rick?" I interrupt.

"Yeah?" He questions, side eyeing me.

"They're not listenin'," I jerk my head towards Carl and Michonne.

He turns to look at them. They're currently teetering over the rails like they're walking a tightrope, all giggles despite our bleak prognosis.

"What are you doin'?" Rick asks indignantly.

"Winning a bet," Carl replies, eyes on the rail beneath his feet.

"In your dreams," Michonne fires back.

The two bicker light-heartedly back and forth as they wobble their way towards us.

"I'm still on," Carl insists, just as he stumbles.

He quickly corrects himself, though, and regains balance. He's still in it.

"Spoke too soon, wise guy," Michonne cackles.

"This might go on a while," Rick says, watching Michonne amusedly.

"Mhmm," I agree. "You wanna talk strategy, scavengin'... I'm all you got. Sorry, Sheriff."

"Maybe we can speed this up," he suggests, glaring at the title.

"Yeah, you're right," Michonne concedes. "Shouldn't be foolin' around. We should probably- Carl!"

I snort as Michonne's crafty plan to startle Carl off the rail backfires and she trips over her own two feet.

"I win," Carl says smugly. "Pay up."

Michonne produces a couple chocolate bars from her pack, trying -and failing- to hide the significantly more delicious and coveted of the two from Carl's discerning eyes.

"Is that really the last Big Cat?" He asks, eyes wide on the candy.

"Oh, come on," she huffs when he makes the obvious choice, snatching up the Big Cat.

"Hey, but you said winner's choice," he smirks.

"Go ahead, take it," she sighs, defeatedly tossing the other candy bar into her bag. "It's yours. You won it. Fair and square." 

"Come on, we always share," ge points out, snapping the bar in half.

"Fork it over," she grins.

I look at Rick looking at Michonne. Staring at her happily. I've never seen him look at anyone that way, not even Lori… oh, hell. He's got a thing for Michonne. It makes so much sense, I almost laugh out loud for not catching it sooner. Daryl would have. Before I can help it, my face falls, sadness welling up inside me and damn near swallowing me whole.

*Daryl's POV*

These guys are bad fuckin' news. But they got weapons, people. It's better than being alone, at least for now. Still, I ain't about to make buddies with 'em. Sun'll be up in a couple hours, then they'll be up and I'll once again be subjected to the unending stream of bullshit chatter. Girls, guns, what they're gonna do to the sorry sumbitch that killed their boy, Lou. I'm gonna go on a hunt, get some time for myself, time I don't have to think about nothin' but getting food.

So I spend the next couple hours and then some creeping about the woods around where we'd made camp last night. Just when I think there ain't nothin' left out here, a rabbit scurries across my path. Carefully, I kneel down and load a bolt into my crossbow. Quiet, so I don't spook the animal. Then I fire. But I ain't the only one out here. Two arrows hit the rabbit. I get to my feet, whirling on that douchebag, Len, standing there looking smug as hell.

"What the hell're you doin'?" I demand.

"Catchin' me some breakfast," he shrugs.

"That's mine," I inform him, striding towards the dead animal to retrieve my arrow.

"Well, my arrow's the one that hit first," he argues. "Cottontail belongs to me."

"I been out here since before the sun came up," I grunt, pulling my bolt from the rabbit.

I pull his arrow out, too. I ain't decided if I'm gonna give it to him or not, yet.

"You see, the rules of the hunt don't mean jack out here," he announces, slowly approaching me as I rise to standing, rabbit in hand. "Now, that rabbit you're holding is claimed, boy."

Nah. This jackass can fetch his arrow his damn self. I fling it into the woods, glaring at him.

" _ Claimed, _ whether you like it or not," he continues as I stride past him. "So, I's you, I'd hand it over. Now. 'Fore you get to wishin' you ain't never even got outta bed this mornin'."

"It ain't yours," I hiss.

"You know?" He questions conversationally. "I'll bet this bitch got you all messed up, hm? Adie, am I right?"

I glance at him, stricken. How the hell's this asshole know?

"Don't look so surprised, partner," he chuckles triumphantly, falling into step behind me as I make my way back to camp. "You talk in your sleep. Snore, too. Now. This bitch. Got you walkin' around here like a dead man who just lost 'imself a piece of tail. Musta been a good 'un."

I wanna slit this motherfucker's throat.

"Tell me somethin'," he says. "Was it one of the little 'uns? 'Cause they don't last too long out here."

I'm  _ gonna  _ slit this motherfucker's throat. I pull my knife from my belt, whipping around, but before I can strike, Joe shows up.

"Easy, fellas," he soothes, grabbing my wrist while Len cackles. "Easy. Let's just put our weapons down, see if we can't figure out what's really the problem here, huh?"

He releases me, moving to stand between me and Len.

"You claim it?" He questions, eyeing Len.

"Hell, yeah," Len confirms.

"Well, there you go," Joe says, the most reasonable man in the whole goddamn world. "That critter belongs to Len."

"So let's have it," Len smirks.

"Looks like you may be wantin' an explanation," Joe says. "See, goin' it alone? That ain't an option nowadays. Still, it is survival of the fittest. That's a paradox right there. So I laid out some rules of the road to keep things from goin' Darwin every couple hours. Keep our merry band together and stress free. All you gotta do is claim. That's how you mark your territory, your prey, your bed at night. One word, claimed."

"I ain't claimin' nothin'," I snarl.

"We're gonna teach him, right?" Len demands. "The rules say we gotta teach him."

"Now, it wouldn't be fair to punish you for violatin' a rule you never even knew existed," Joe points out, the picture of fairness, as Len throws up his hands in self-righteous disbelief.

"There ain't no rules no more," I snap.

"Oh, there are," Joe counters. "You know that. That's why I didn't kill you for the crossbow."

I turn, ready to walk away from these two assholes and their asshole friends, but before my back is even half turned, Joe takes it upon himself to attempt to pull the rabbit from my hands.

"Hey," he soothes. "Easy there, partner."

He stretches my arm out, laying the rabbit I'm still holding on to flush against a tree trunk between the two of us, slicing it clean in half with his hatchet. He tosses the end with the head to Len, who takes it and stalks off without another word.

"Claimed," he says happily, as though that explains it all. "That's all you gotta say. Hey, ass end is still an end."

*Adrienne's POV*

"Adie," Michonne's voice is gentle, and she's holding out a chunk of her share of the Big Cat. I shake my head. "It's the last one. C'mon, you know you want it."

What I want is Daryl. Alive. Safe. By my side. But maybe this is what I get. Karma for killing my dad, for torturing him instead of… Jesus, and I kept the patch, too. I still don't know why, and I can't take it off. No one's questioned it, but I still catch Rick staring every once in a while. I could've done it. Killed him quick. I didn't. I made him suffer, I wanted him to hurt like I hurt. With a sigh, I accept the candy and pop it into my mouth, falling behind the others, chewing silently.

We keep walking. Eventually Michonne hangs back, falling into step beside me once more.

"What's goin' on in there?" She questions softly.

"I killed him," I blurt, running a fingertip in half circles beneath the elastic around my wrist.

"Yeah," she says slowly. "Yeah, you did."

I killed my  _ dad. _ The man who picked me up and spun me around and made me feel like I was flying. Taught me how to tie my shoes and count by fives and told me spectacular stories about pictures in the stars, about heroes battling fearsome beasts to save their princesses. He was never angry with me, never once raised his voice, not even when I tracked mud through the house or all those times he tripped over the hotwheelz cars I used to leave  _ everywhere. _ I loved him, once. I wish I hadn't. I wish he'd been mean to me, I wish he'd screamed and yelled and broke things and missed birthdays and holidays and never called.

I wonder if Daryl's dad was ever nice to him and Merle. I wonder if Daryl loved him and that's why it hurts so much to talk about what he did to them. It's easier to hate someone you think hates you, I think. Maybe it doesn't make a difference. Or maybe it's just easy to forgive someone for hating you if you love them. It doesn't matter. My dad is dead. I killed him. I had to. I know that. But I wasted  _ time _ and I wasted  _ bullets, _ and those are two of the most precious things in the world now. They're both gone before you know it. I was so wrapped up in making him suffer, my real family, the one I got to  _ choose, _ disappeared and some of them  _ died _ and I should have been protecting them.

"Do you think they'll be there?" I question softly.

"If they saw those signs," Michonne nods, squaring her shoulders.

"I don't know what I'm gonna do if he's not there."

"I used to talk to my dead boyfriend," she says flatly, staring straight ahead. "It was… crazy. But it got me through the worst part."

"Mm," I grunt, not sure what the hell to say to that.

"I'm just sayin', it might help."

"He isn't my-"

"That man is wrapped around your little finger," she scoffs, smiling sadly. "If he's out there, he's out there lookin' for you. He saw the same signs we did."

"Let's just get there."

*Daryl's POV*

After the fucking bunny debacle, we pull up stakes at camp and continue on down the railroad tracks, Len and I each toting our halves of the rabbit in black trash bags. I ain't staying with these guys. I told Joe last night. This is temporary.

"So what's the plan, Daryl?" Joe questions after we've been walking a while, the two of us at the tail end of the group.

"How so?" I ask.

"Well, you're with us now, but you ain't soon?"

"Yep."

"So, what's the plan?"

I dunno. I don't even have a plan. All I know is I ain't staying for long.

"Just, uh… lookin' for the right place is all," I mutter.

"Oh," Joe says with an air of understanding. "We ain't good enough for you, huh?"

"Some of you ain't exactly friendly," I point out, watching him drag on his cigarette.

"You ain't so friendly yourself," he chuckles. "You know you need a group out here."

"Maybe I don't," I argue.

"No, you  _ do, _ " he counters. "You should be with us."

Before he can continue his pitch, a walker appears from around the corner of an abandoned building just off to the side of the train tracks. He don't make a move to put it down, opting instead to watch while three of his men dispose of the threat for him.

"People don't gotta be friendly," he announces. "We don't have to be nice. We don't have to be brothers in arms. We just gotta follow the rules. You claim. If you steal, you keel. I know that sounds a little funny, but nobody laughs when somethin' goes missin'. And you don't lie. 'Cause that's a slippery slope indeed."

"What happens if you break 'em?" I question.

"Oh, you catch a beatin'," he explains nonchalantly. "The severity of which depends upon the offense and the general attitude of the day. But that don't happen much 'cause when men like us follow rules and cooperate a  _ little _ bit, well, the world becomes ours."

Men like us, huh? I ain't nothing like these jackasses. Evidently done with his sermon, he lets out a shrill whistle, getting the attention of the rest of the guys.

"That there," he announces, pointing to an abandoned garage. "It's our abode for the evenin'."

"Hey," I blurt, catching him before he walks away. "There ain't no us."

"You leavin' right now?" He demands, turning back towards me. "No? Then it sure seems like there's an us," he turns once more to walk away, then on second thought, turns back to address me again. "You a cat person, Daryl?" He questions. "I am. Loved 'em since I was three years old. Vicious creatures. Anyway, I'll tell you, and this is  _ true, _ ain't nothin' sadder than an outdoor cat thinks he's an indoor cat."

Asshole. Still, he ain't wrong. Going it alone ain't an option, not yet. So I follow Joe and the others into the garage. Ain't nothin' here worth taking. Somebody beat us to it. Cleared the place of walkers, and it looks like they siphoned all the gas from the half dozen dusty old junkers parked haphazardly around the shop. The backseat of these cars sure as hell beats sleeping on the ground, though, and I ain't wasting no time.

"They ain't here," Tony points out. "Nobody's been here for a while. Wherever was, they got all the gas."

"That don't matter," Joe replies. "We're gettin' closer. I can feel it."

"Claimed," Billy announces, stalking over to the car I'd just pulled a tarp from.

Billy's a scrawny little white guy who couldn't fight his way outta a wet paper towel. He's one of the only dudes here who seems to actually like Len and took personal offense to Joe splitting that damn rabbit. He smirks at me, kicking my trash bag, in which my half of the rabbit lies, across the room for good measure. I scowl and cross towards a pickup across the garage while the word  _ claimed _ echoes through the room.

" _ Claimed. _ " Len snarks, tossing his pack into the truck bed before I can get to it.

Fuck it. I ain't gonna have a goddamn tantrum. It ain't the first time I've slept on the floor, anyway. I drop my trash bag to the ground and settle myself on the concrete, my head propped up by the carcass inside the bag. Ain't too bad if I just ignore the fact that my pillow is a dead rabbit's ass. I ain't gonna sleep until the rest of these jackasses are. Ain't nobody here to watch my back. I don't leave my spot except for the thirty seconds it takes to piss and come back. I pull a cinnamon stick from my pocket and chew on it, staring up at the rafters in the ceiling while I wait for everyone else to sleep.

"You gotta be kiddin' me," Len spits after a while, stalking towards me. "Christ."

Oh, what the hell's his fucking problem now? I ain't never met another grown man so goddamn needy. I sit up, pulling the cinnamon stick from my mouth and tucking it back into my pocket.

"Give it here," he snarls.

"Why don't you step back?" I demand.

" _ My  _ half was in the bag," he announces, and I get to my feet, knowing he ain't gonna let up until Joe's involved. "Now it's gone. Now, ain't nobody around here interested in no half a damn cottontail 'cept you. Ain't that right?"

"You're the only one still thinkin' about that shit!" I hiss.

"Empty your bag," he commands, going for the trash bag at my feet.

"I said step back," I snarl, snatching up the bag before he can get his filthy mitts on it.

Now Joe's involved, though, just like Len wanted, and he yanks the plastic sack from my hands.

"Did you take his rabbit, Daryl?" He questions calmly. "Just tell me the truth."

"I didn't take  _ nothin', _ " I spit, glaring.

"What do we got here?" He questions idly, unknotting the bag. "Come on."

He turns the bag upside down and both halves of the rabbit fall to the floor with a wet slap.

"Well, look at that," he says, resigned.

"You put that there, didn't you?" I demand, grabbing Len by the collar. "When I went out to take a piss."

"You lied," he hisses.

"Didn't you?" I snarl, letting him go.

" _ You _ lied," he repeats, jabbing a finger into my chest. " _ You  _ stole. We gonna teach this fool or what, Joe? Huh?"

"Woah, woah, woah…" Joe soothes, stepping between me and Len, his back to me. "Now, Daryl says he didn't take your half of the rabbit, so we got a little conundrum here. Either he's lyin'..." he turns to face me. "Which is an  _ actionable offense, _ or…" he chuckles, turning back to Len. "Or you didn't plant it on him like some pussy, punk ass, cheatin', coward cop, did you?"

That's exactly what the fuck he did.

"'Cause while that wouldn't be specifically breakin' the rules, it'd be disappointin'."

"It would," Len agrees. " _ I didn't. _ "

"Good," Joe says, satisfied, clapping his golden boy on the arm and turning to the rest of his crew. "Well…"

He whirls around, abruptly cocking his fist and hurling it at Len's face hard enough to knock him to the ground.

"Teach him a lesson, gents," he instructs. "He's a lyin' sack of shit, I'm sick of it. Teach him all the way."

All the way? Hell's that mean? I watch as Joe's men all converge upon Len, taking turns kicking him in the gut, the head, his ribs… Jesus, they're gonna beat him to death. All the way.

"I saw him do it," Joe explains, turning his back on the lesson being learned.

"Why didn't you try to stop 'im?" I demand.

"He wanted to play that out," he shrugs. "I let 'im.  _ You  _ told the truth. He lied. You understand the rules. He doesn't," he bends down and picks up Len's half of the rabbit, pinching its ear between his thumb and forefinger, dangling it gingerly before me. "Looks like you get the head, too."

He tosses it to me and I catch it, crouching to put the dead animal back into my bag. Don't feel like I won no prize. Len's dead by morning and we move on, walking along the train tracks, following the trail of whatever sorry bastard killed Lou. Wonder if Joe's planning on teaching him all the way, too. Wonder if I can bail before that happens.

"White Lightnin'," Joe announces abruptly, offering me his flask. "Easiest thing to make with the least amount of supplies. I'd start slow if I was you. Your stomach's probably emptier 'n you think."

Yeah, I know what White Lightning is. I tip the flask to my mouth, draining probably a quarter of the flask in one go.

"Mm," I grunt, passing the flask back to him. "I ain't been lit at dawn since before everything fell apart."

"Fell apart," he nods thoughtfully. "I never looked at it like that. Seems to me like things are finally startin' to fall together. Least for guys like us. Livin' like this, survivin'. We've been doin' this from the start, right?"

Us. Ain't no us. Before I can formulate a response that's enough to keep me in Joe's good graces but still non-committal enough it ain't a lie, I spot a sign staked into the tracks. Homemade, just a piece of weathered, old cardboard stuck to a metal rod.

SANCTUARY

FOR ALL

COMMUNITY

FOR ALL

THOSE WHO ARRIVE

SURVIVE

"Gettin' closer," Joe observes, but I ain't listening, really.

This must be where that ghost voice on the radio was coming from, the one we heard back on the med run. Jesus, I forgot all about that shit until just now. There's a map below the sign, a big star labelled  _ 'TERMINUS', _ where all the railroads cross. If there's more signs, if this ain't the only one, maybe…

"You seen this before?" I question.

"Oh, yeah," Joe nods, eyeing the sign with disgust before moving on. "I'll tell you what it is. It's a lie. Ain't no sanctuary for all. Ain't gonna welcome guys like you and me with open arms."

Guys like you and me… I follow him. Ain't like I got another choice. Him and his cronies will shoot me dead if I try to leave in broad daylight, almost no cover. I'll leave tonight, find this Terminus myself.

"So's that where we're headed?" I ask.

"So now you're askin'?" He counters dubiously.

"That's right."

"We were in a house mindin' our own business and uh… this walkin' piece of fecal matter was hidin' in the home," he tells me, seemingly forgetting I heard all this bullshit before. "Strangled our colleague, Lou, and left him to turn. Lou came at all of us. He lit out. We tracked 'im to these tracks, one of those signs, and thus we've got a destination in mind."

"You see his face?"

"Only Tony," he says. "That's enough for a reckoning."

"Claimed," I bark, spotting a strawberry plant growing on the embankment.

System's childish. Stupid. Simple. I can get by with these guys, just until dark. Then I'm gonna move on, go to Terminus and see what's up. If any of my people got out, saw them signs, that's where they'll be. Hell, maybe that's where that car took Beth. Maybe she's there. Maybe they all are.

*Adrienne's POV*

We walk until the sun starts to dip in the sky. We need to make camp. Again. I've never been more upset at our human limitations. I'm so damn tired of stopping. I just want to  _ get there. _ Rick leads us into the trees beyond the tracks where we set up a tiny fire to huddle beside for the night. It's quiet. Even the damn crickets seem to be grieving. Morning comes but we can't keep going. We decide we're gonna stay, just another day or two, rest up. Terminus,  _ if _ it's there at all, will still be there when we get to it.

"How hungry are you, scale of 1 to 10?" Rick questions, eyeing us each in turn.

"15," Carl says decisively.

"28," Michonne says, not one to be topped.

"I'm fine," I insist when it's my turn.

"Yeah, well…" Rick sighs, pouring the minuscule amount of water we've boiled into a canteen. "It's been a while. I'm gonna go check the snares."

"Can I go with you?" Carl asks.

"Well, how else're you gonna learn?" Rick chuckles, kicking dirt over the fire.

Daryl taught us snares. He used to set 'em up every night outside the quarry camp, warn us all not to mess with 'em or he'd cut our hands off. That was before Merle lost his, of course. Daryl didn't show us how to actually set up snares until that winter after the farm. That was a hard time, but at least there was more to catch then. The world is dying now.

"Hey," Rick murmurs, catching Michonne and I's attention. "You, too."

I can't. I can't stand the idea of tromping along behind the three of them, listening to the light-hearted banter, feeling like a goddamn ghost. I know I'm being ridiculous, I know it, but I just… I feel like I'm intruding on something that isn't for me. So I walk away and they let me go. It's not the first time. I'll come back, I always do. I wander around the woods for a bit, each minute that passes seeming more dismal and hopeless. I'd give anything for a drink. Or a rolled up dollar bill and a line of white dust. Just something, anything to get me through. Something-

"Help!" A man's voice echoes through the woods, desperate and terrified.

Before I can think too much about it I take off in the direction of the sound, almost barreling right into Michonne where she and our boys stand, watching a large group of walkers tear a man to shreds. We can't help him. We can't take on a group that big. Still, it feels wrong. Then they spot us, several breaking off from the pack and shambling in our direction. So we run. We take only what we have on our backs and race towards the tracks.

Unfortunately, there are several more walkers gathered on the tracks and we have no choice. We have to fight through them. I underestimated us. We take out the group on the tracks in just seconds and continue on our way towards a small residential road.

"Thought maybe there'd be some houses down this way," Michonne says breathlessly as we walk down the street, finally having outrun the walkers. "Maybe even a store. There's gotta be some food around here somewhere."

"Hey, look," Carl blurts, pointing out an old abandoned car just up the road.

Well. It's not going anywhere, but at least it's got a roof. It's somewhere moderately safe for Carl to sleep, if nothing else. We haven't had a roof or walls since we'd slept in that abandoned garage just off the tracks, and that was days ago. We make camp right here in the middle of the road, getting a small fire going as night falls. Dinner consists of a rabbit with barely enough meat on its bones for a single person, let alone four of us. I give most of my portion to Carl, and he protests but takes it anyway, hunger winning out over altruism.

-

"That was one small rabbit," Rick observes.

"It was somethin'," Michonne points out.

It's late, and I'm perched on top of the roof of the car, Carl fast asleep inside, listening to their hushed conversation. I feel like such a third wheel. Still, I can't think of a better match. And Carl… they  _ fit. _ They're a family. I'm on the outside. Rick moves to stamp out the fire and I hop down, crossing towards him and Michonne to discuss who's taking watch and when. Before I can get a word out, a twig snaps. It's a tiny sound, but in the world we live in? Might as well have been a bullet. We're immediately on the defense, backs together, forming a triangle while we wait for whatever's lurking to reveal itself. Nothing. Nothing attacks. There are no other sounds.

"Must've been another rabbit or somethin'," I murmur, the three of us sinking to the ground.

"We let people in," Rick continues where their conversation had left off.

"We did," Michonne agrees. "So did the Governor."

"He didn't let people in," I mutter, fingering the patch I can't seem to throw away. "He  _ collected _ 'em. Used 'em for protection. He wasn't human."

"Yeah," Rick nods. "It's always the same, isn't it? Don't get to know until we know. Maybe this place isn't even there anymore."

"Oh, dearie me," a vaguely familiar voice says, and I'm abruptly yanked from my place on the ground. "You screwed up, asshole."


	48. Those Who Arrive Survive

**Chapter 48**

The men from the house. The one who's friend Rick had killed. How the fuck did they  _ find _ us? My arms are pinned to my sides, one of the men pressing me against his chest, gun to my head. Rick and Michonne are in similar binds, more men emerging from the woods. My heart leaps into my throat.  _ Carl. _

"You hear me?" The leader asks, gun to Rick's head. "You screwed up. Today's a day of reckoning, sir.  _ Restitution. _ A balancing of the whole damn universe."

As he says this, one of his buddies approaches the car. This man… he's like the ones who would visit my father when I was young. Visit me. I can  _ feel _ it, almost see it, something sick roiling off the man's skin while he leers at Carl through the window.

"Don't you fuckin' touch 'im," I snarl, struggling against the man holding me.

"You got a mouth on you," the leader chuckles, eyeing me as the man behind me claps his free hand over my mouth. "Close it. Shit, and I was thinkin' of turning in for the night on New Year's Eve. Now who's gonna count down the ball dropper with me, huh? 10 Mississippi! 9 Mississippi! 8 Mississippi!"

He's gonna kill us all.

"Joe!"

No fucking way. He locks eyes with me, terrified. Daryl. Was he in that house? Had we  _ left _ him there? Why is he with them? He's  _ alive. _

"Hold up."

"You're stoppin' me on eight, Daryl," Joe says indignantly.

"Jus' hold up," Daryl insists, stepping towards me.

" _ Claimed! _ " The man behind me snarls, pulling me closer, his rancid breath on my neck. "This is the guy that killed Lou, so we got nothin' to talk about."

"The thing about nowadays is we got nothin' but time," Joe declares. "Say your piece, Daryl."

"These people, you're gonna let 'em go," Daryl says firmly. "These're good people."

"Now I, I, I think Lou would disagree with you on that," Joe scoffs. "I'll, of course, have to speak for him and all 'cause your friend here strangled him in a bathroom."

"You want blood," Daryl says, nodding. "I get it," he lays down his crossbow, hands up in surrender. "Take it from me, man. Come on."

"No!" I try to protest, but I can't make much sound with the hand pressed firmly to my face, my head still pinned against this asshole's chest.

"This man killed our friend," Joe says, all traces of mirth gone from his face. "You say he's good people. See, now that right there is, is, is a lie. It's a lie!"

I watch in horror as two of the men descend upon Daryl, beating on him. He's fighting back, but these men are ruthless. And he's unarmed, outnumbered.

"Teach him, fellas!" Joe shouts. "Teach him all the way!"

All the way? What the hell does that mean?! My knife… I can feel it, still miraculously attached to my belt. If I can just get to it without alerting these men… that thought goes out the window when the man still leering at Carl drags him from the car.

"C'mere, boy!" He hisses.

"You leave him be!" Rick yells, struggling against Joe's grip

I wriggle my face free from my captor's stifling hand.

"Leave him alone!" I cry, watching in horror as the man puts his hands on Carl.

"You jealous, sweetheart?" The man behind me sneers. "You'll get yours, too. Wait your turn. Then I'm gonna take that black bitch. Claimed!"

Michonne and I exchange a horrified glance, then she catches sight of my knife. I see her eyes widen and shake my head. Wait. We're gonna get out of this.

"Listen, it was just me," Rick pleads. "Just me!"

"See, now, that's right!" Joe crows happily. "That's not some damn lie! Look, we can settle this, we're reasonable men. First, we're gonna beat Daryl to death. Then we'll have the girls. Maybe take 'em with us, I  _ like _ 'em. Ebony and ivory.  _ Then _ the boy. Then I'm gonna shoot you and then we'll be square."

Carl's on the ground, the man behind him giggling, climbing on top of him, pressing his face into the dirt. He's gonna… no. No, no, no. Like  _ hell. _ I see red, my vision blurring, pulse thundering in my ears as I listen to Carl and Daryl struggle in the background. Rage courses through my veins. They're gonna bleed. All of them. I snatch my knife from my belt and twist in my captor's arms, thrusting the blade upwards through his chin. He drops just as a single shot rings out.

I whirl around, but it's not any of mine. Rick is on his feet, he and Joe exchanging blows, Joe's gun having been fired in the struggle. Rick can hold his own. Michonne breaks free, but the man who had been holding her kicks her over before she can reach her blade, gun trained on her head. I lunge at him, knocking him to the ground and straddling his back. Someone is screaming. All eyes snap up at the feral sound. Rick has bitten into Joe's neck, and tears out his jugular as we all watch in horrified fascination.

The moment ends, Joe dropping to the ground, bleeding out. Michonne snatches her katana from the dirt, plunging the blade into the skull of the man I'm holding down as Rick spits Joe's flesh onto the ground. I whirl around, watching as one of the men beating on Daryl pulls a gun. I hurl myself at his back and jam my blade into his temple, killing him instantly as Daryl takes down his second assailant, bringing the heel of his boot down on the man's skull. Michonne and I move towards the pervert who laid hands on Carl.

"I'll kill him!" He shouts, holding a knife to Carl's neck. "I'll, I'll kill him!"

"Let him go!" I roar, body coiled, ready to pounce if this monster makes a move. "Let him go!"

"He's mine," Rick growls, blood dripping from his beard as he strides towards the man holding his son, knife gleaming in the moonlight.

The man releases Carl, who runs into Michonne's arms. Rick plunges the knife into the man, slicing, sawing,  _ dragging _ it upward through his torso. But he doesn't stop there. He pulls the blade out and thrusts it right back into his heart. Over and over and over… the blood. My ears start to ring and I close my eyes. The wet sound of metal piercing flesh continues for what feels simultaneously like hours and no time at all.

All I can see is an eye patch.

_ Adie Bee... _

Then I open my eyes and catch sight of Carl's bloody face. He's staring at his father, horror-stricken. Terrified. Michonne is holding him tight, but he shouldn't be seeing this.

"Get 'im in the car," I murmur, and she nods, guiding the crying boy to the vehicle.

The two of them disappear into the backseat, away from the unspeakable violence. I get it. Sometimes you have to be a monster to kill a monster.

"Rick," I say softly, approaching him as he continues to stab into what's left of the man's torso. "Rick, he's gone. He's dead. Rick."

He raises his eyes to mine, vacant and unseeing.

"He's dead," I repeat, gently pulling the knife from his blood soaked hands. "He's not gonna hurt him."

Rick surrenders the blade and sinks to the ground, leaning against the car and staring into nothing. I wipe the knife on my jeans, turning towards a man I'd been half convinced was a ghost. Daryl. Alive. Here. How? He's staring at me like I might disappear the second he turns away. I'm afraid to blink.

"I didn't… I didn't know what they were," he mutters, tears welling in his eyes. "I didn't know…"

Of course he didn't know. He wouldn't have been with 'em if he had and, as horrifying as this night has been… I'm glad he didn't know. He's not a ghost or a mirage or a dream, he's  _ here. _ I shush him, gently cupping his face in my hands.

"I know," I murmur, taking in his injuries. "I know. You're hurt."

"I'm all right," he grunts.

I pull his green bandanna from my pocket, gingerly dabbing at the blood seeping from the cuts on his face. He reaches for me tentatively, pressing my hand to his cheek and closing his eyes, leaning into my touch, and then we're both crying, his head dropping to my shoulder as he sobs. I hold him against me, pressing my lips to his hair and just breathing him in. He smells like cinnamon. He feels like home. We stand like that for what feels like eternity and it's still not enough, it will never be enough.

"You should check on Carl," he whispers gruffly, pulling away.

I nod, touching his face one more time before ducking into the backseat. I eye Michonne, Carl snuggled into her side.

"Are you okay?" I whisper.

"Are you?" She counters pointedly, eyeing me with concern.

I can't answer that. I don't know what I am. Overjoyed, terrified, homicidally angry… but Daryl's here. Daryl's here and Carl's here and we're alive, so I'm gonna be okay.

"I'm gonna be."

*Daryl's POV*

"We should save it to drink," Rick says insistently as I pour a bit of water onto my red cloth, intent on getting him to at least get  _ some _ of the blood off his face before Carl's up.

Adie had looted the claimers' bags, pulling out t-shirts and jackets, anything she could hang from the car windows to block Carl's view of the carnage out here. She and I had worked silently, taking weapons and ammo off the bodies, then moving them into the woods to rot where Carl won't have to see them when he wakes up. Adie had ducked into the car for the night a couple hours before dawn. I stayed out here with Rick.

"You can't see yourself, he can," I murmur, offering him the rag.

He takes it and I sit down beside him, eyeing the horror in the early morning light. I almost can't believe it. It feels so damn fragile, like if I close my eyes they'll be gone again. They're alive _.  _ Rick, Carl, Michonne, Adrienne, all of 'em here together. Beth was right. We weren't the only ones.

"I didn't know what they were," I murmur.

"How'd you wind up with 'em?" Rick questions.

"I was with Beth," I sigh. "We got out together. I was with her for a while."

"Is she dead?"

"She's jus' gone," I tell him, looking him in the eye as he nods. "After that, that's when they found me. I mean, I knew they were bad, but they had a code. It was simple. Stupid, but it was somethin'. It was enough."

"And you were alone."

"Said they were lookin' for some guy," I explain. "Last night they said they spotted him. I was hangin' back, I was gonna leave. But I stayed. That's when I saw it was you four. Right when you saw me. I didn't know what they could do."

"It's not on you, Daryl," he insists, but I can't look at him. "Hey. It's not on you. You bein' back with us here, now, that's everything. You're my brother."

He says it and means it. My brother. A brother not by birth, but a bond still forged in blood. We're brothers.

"Hey, what you did last night…" I trail off, momentarily at a loss. "Anybody woulda done that."

"No," he argues. "Not that."

"Somethin' happened," I insist. "That ain't you."

"Daryl, you saw what I did to Tyreese," he counters. "It ain't all of it, but that's me. That's why I'm here now. That's why Carl is. I wanna keep him safe. That's all that matters."

Adrienne chooses this moment to make her presence known, rounding the car and eyeing a couple walkers emerging from the trees on the other side of the road. I'd heard her leave the car several minutes ago, and I assume she was attempting to give me and Rick some privacy. She hurls herself across the road and takes both walkers out with terrifyingly quick, lethal precision, not even breaking a sweat. That's one thing she got from her dad. The brutality. Rick catches me staring, but I can't bring myself to tear my eyes away. Not this time. Not when part of me is still so afraid.

"She, uh… she missed you," he says, nodding at her as she crouches down to collect anything of value from the bodies. "It's been bad. Doesn't, doesn't talk much, eats even less, just... wanders off sometimes."

"How'd she get out?" I question him. "She been with you the whole time?"

"No," he tells me heavily. "No, no, she was… she was with Michonne... after. They got out together. She won't talk about it. Michonne said it was… she had to pull her off the Governor's body. What was left of it. She killed him herself, she just kept goin' like... they found me and Carl after, holed up in that house."

He falls silent as Adrienne heads towards us, pocketing a couple loose rounds she'd taken off the walkers, and it's just now I notice the eye patch looped around her wrist. Michonne and Carl are up, so we all gather our shit and head for the tracks. We might not have much, but at least we got decent weapons and each other. And a real destination.

Terminus.

*Adrienne's POV*

He'd been with Beth. The way he talked about her, when he said  _ she's just gone… _ something happened. He feels something for her, I know it. I shouldn't care. It shouldn't feel like this. Angry, jealous… more than a little betrayed. For all they knew, they were the only ones left. But I feel like my heart has been torn from my chest, just walking around on its own somewhere outside my body. Daryl's here, he's alive, but he's not mine. Not that he ever was. Jesus. This is fucking stupid, moping about this shit. He's alive.  _ Beth's _ alive. That's what matters.

I've fallen to the back of our little group, Rick and Michonne leading the way, Daryl and Carl in the middle. Every so often, Daryl glances over his shoulder at me. No, not at me. Just checking to make sure we're not being followed, I suppose. We shuffle across the tracks, one foot in front of the other.

"Hey," Carl mutters, kicking a chunk of gravel down the embankment as he falls into step with me.

"Hey," I echo, glancing at him.

He's watching his dad's back, staring at him with this look on his face like… like he's afraid.

"You okay?"

He just shrugs, sending another piece of gravel skittering across the tracks.

"You wanna talk about it?"

"No."

"Okay."

It's quiet for a few more minutes, just the crunching of gravel and dead leaves underfoot as the five of us tromp our way over the tracks.

"Do  _ you _ wanna talk about it?" Carl blurts.

"No," I chuckle bitterly. "It's not the first time I've had a gun to my head."

"I didn't mean last night."

"What did you mean, then?"

"The Governor. You kept his eye patch."

I glare into the sun, unsure what to say or if I want to say anything at all. The look on Michonne's face that day… it's kinda like how Carl's looking at Rick now.

"I killed him," I nod. "There's not a lot else to talk about."

"You didn't have to."

He's right. I didn't have to. I could've stayed with the others, helped get our people out. I could've run like Daryl told me to. I  _ didn't _ have to kill him.

"I wanted to," I murmur. "Wish I could say I had a better reason, but… but I  _ wanted _ him dead and I wanted… after everything he did, after  _ Hershel… _ " I trail off, wiping away an errant tear that had seeped from my eye and made its way down my cheek. "He brought an army to our gates," I state flatly. "Knowin' we'd fight back, knowin'... he didn't come back for the prison, he knew he couldn't take it from us. He came back and he didn't care who got hurt in the crossfire, he didn't  _ care _ that he was leadin' innocent people into a slaughter, he wanted us dead. I couldn't let him walk away, I couldn't take that chance, not again."

Silence falls once more while Carl mulls that over. I know what he saw last night scared him. Maybe Dale was right, all that time he spent trying to convince us we were losing our humanity. Maybe we're monsters now.

"I would've killed him for you," Carl says finally, nodding to himself.

"I know," I assure him, smiling sadly. "But I wouldn't've let you. It had to be me."

He nods and again the quiet falls, this time unbroken until we come across another sign for Terminus. We're almost there.

"Gettin' close," Daryl observes. "Be there before sundown."

"Maybe we should take the scenic route," I suggest, eyeing Rick. "Take the back way in, check out what we're walkin' into before ringin' the doorbell."

"Head through the woods," Rick nods, considering. "We don't know who they are."

"All right," Daryl agrees, leading the way into the trees.

We eventually make it to a fence surrounding a compound. An old train station, go figure. We can't see much. A building surrounded by abandoned train cars, that's about it.

"We all spread out," Rick murmurs. "Watch for a while, see what we see, and get ready. We all stay close."

We split up, Michonne and Carl in one direction, I in another. Daryl's right behind me and I wish he wasn't. I'd assumed he'd be staying with Rick. We walk in silence. All I want to do is hold him. Tell him how much I love him. Say it again and again until he understands, until he  _ knows. _ But it means nothing. I can't force it. Whatever we had before, if we had anything at all in the first place… Beth is better for him. It's not like she's a kid anymore, not really. She's grown. She's beautiful, innocent. Kind. She still sees beauty in the world, as fucked up as it is now. And she loves Daryl.

All the things he needs, everything I could never hope to be...

Jesus. I need to focus. We see nothing. Hear nothing. So we double back, coming across Rick burying our bag of weapons, most of which we'd pilfered from the rapist gang. An insurance policy. Smart. Still, I'm taking my weapons. A bag of guns out here won't do shit for us if we end up stuck in there. If they fire on us, if this isn't a  _ sanctuary. _ Maybe no one's here at all and this is just a waste of time.

"Just in case," he says, shoveling dirt over the bag.

Michonne and Carl come back and it's time to go in. Rick hops the fence first, followed by Michonne, then Carl. Daryl gestures for me to go first, but I wait him out, following only after he's up and over. We make our way into the central building and head down an empty corridor. There's something off about this place. It's… cold. Unsettling. There's a voice.

"Those who arrive survive."

We follow the voice into a large room. There are people. Several. The woman speaking is seated at a desk, reading a script into a microphone. Are they… broadcasting?

"Hello," Rick says abruptly, striding towards the desk. "Hello."

Standing in the middle of the room, we couldn't possibly be more exposed. The people take us in, our arrival not seeming entirely unexpected. It unnerves me.

"Well, I bet  _ Albert _ is on perimeter watch," a man says flatly, approaching us. "You here to rob us?"

"No," Rick tells him, drawing nearer. "We wanted to see you before you saw us."

"Makes sense," the man says, nodding. "Usually we do this where the tracks meet. Ahem. Welcome to Terminus. I'm Gareth."

I can't help it. The fanfare of it all, his theatricality, combined with the ridiculous name… I snort, coughing hastily in a failed attempt to hide it, then coughing for real because of the lingering sickness in my lungs.

"Looks like you've been on the road for a good bit," Gareth says, eyeing us once I've managed to get my shit together.

"We have," Rick confirms. "Rick. That's Carl, Daryl, Adrienne, Michonne."

Rick nods to each of us in turn and Gareth waves. No one acknowledges this, our weapons remain drawn.

"You're nervous, I get it!" Gareth says warmly. "We were all the same way. We came here for sanctuary. That what you're here for?"

"Yes," Rick nods.

"Good," Gareth says emphatically. "You found it. Hey, Alex."

He beckons another man forward before continuing his little welcome speech. I hate this guy already.

"This isn't as pretty as the front," Gareth declares. "We got nothin' to hide, but the welcome wagon is a whole lot nicer. Alex'll take you, ask you a few questions. Uh, but first, we need to see everyone's weapons. If you could just lay 'em down in front of you."

"All right," Rick agrees, nodding.

He lays his gun down, eyeing the rest of us expectantly. Daryl, Carl, and Michonne follow suit. I glare at Rick. We have a silent battle in our heads.

_ You're not serious. _

_ Do it. _

All _ of them?! _

_ Damn it, Adie, now! _

With a sigh, I flop heavily onto the floor and begin the tedious process of removing my weapons. I've become a bit of a hoarder in our time on the road. I pull my beloved Glock from my side holster, my backup pistol from the back of my waistband, the buck knife from my belt, my concealed secondary knives from the sheaths I'd sewn inside each leg of my jeans, and the four small throwing knives I'd stowed neatly in the sides of my boots. I line them all up in front of me, then get to my feet and curtsy sarcastically, earning a hard glare from Rick and stifled laughter from Carl, Michonne and, surprisingly, Daryl.

"I'm sure you understand," Gareth says, all smiles as he takes in my attitude.

"She does," Rick assures him.

I do  _ not. _ This Alex man steps towards me and I raise my arms obediently, allowing him to pat me down while I attempt to drill holes into his head with just my eyes. He moves on to Daryl, eyeing his face as he frisks him.

"Hate to see the other guy," he remarks, taking in Daryl's injuries.

"You would," Rick agrees.

"They deserve it?" Alex asks, having moved on to Carl, whose face is scratched up, too.

"Yes," Carl says without hesitation.

"Just so you know, we aren't those kind of people," Gareth assures us. "But we aren't stupid, either. And you shouldn't be stupid enough to try anything stupid."

At this, he gazes at me bemusedly. But I'm not paying attention to that. I've just spotted the reason Rick's being so cooperative. These people… they're  _ wearing _ our people's things. My eyes widen, and Rick shoots me a look. Keep your trap shut.

"As long as everyone's clear on that, we shouldn't have any problems," Gareth smiles pleasantly. "Just solutions. Okay?"

Oh, they're about to have one hell of a problem. He claps his hands and Alex returns Michonne's katana to her. I take this as my cue and begin to reassemble my small arsenal, smacking Alex's hand away when he attempts to assist me in gathering my plethora of knives. He then moves to hand Daryl his crossbow, but Daryl snatches it from the floor before he can lay a finger on it.

"Follow me," Alex says brightly, leading us out into a makeshift courtyard.

"So, how long's this place been here?" Daryl questions nonchalantly, already searching for information we can use.

"Since almost the start," Alex answers vaguely. "When all the camps got overrun, people started findin' this place. I think it was instinct, you know? Follow a path. Some folks were headin' to the coast, others out west or up north, but they all wound up here."

"Touching," I simper, eyes sweeping the area.

Sasha's sweater. Daryl's poncho. Glenn's riot gear. Bob's orange backpack… others must have made it out of the prison, and they were here. So where are they now? I exchange a glance with Daryl, arching an eyebrow. He nods, almost imperceptibly. He sees it.

"Hi," a redheaded woman greets us, eyeing my hair and nodding like all fellow gingers do.

Bonding over our mutual struggle. The universal camaraderie of the carrot top. Please.

"Heard you came in the back door, smart. You'll fit right in here."

"Hey, Mary, would you fix each of these new folks a plate for me?" Alex questions.

"Why do you do it?" Michonne demands. "Why do you let people in?"

"The more people become a part of us, we get stronger," Alex says simply. "That's why we put up the signs. Invite people in. It's how we survive. Here."

He offers Carl a plate of some kind of mystery meat. For some reason, my stomach lurches. I'm not touching that. Then I spot Glenn's watch. The pocket watch Hershel gave him a lifetime ago, sticking out of Alex's pocket. Rick sees it the same time I do, smacking the plate out of Carl's hands and lunging towards Alex. Daryl and I waste no time, weapons drawn the moment Rick moves. Rick pulls Alex to his chest, gun pressed firmly to the man's temple as he snatches the watch from his pocket.

"Where the hell did you get this watch?" He snarls as Carl and Michonne draw their own weapons.

"You want answers?" Alex questions, struggling against Rick's grip. "You want anything else? You get 'em when you put down the gun."

"I see your man on the roof with a sniper rifle," Rick points out. "How good's his aim? Where'd you get the watch?"

I glance at the sniper, Daryl and I back to back as we slowly turn. We're surrounded. Damn it.

"Where'd you get the watch?!" Rick repeats once more.

"Don't do anything!" Alex cries, his sniper friend ready to shoot us all dead. "I have this! You just put it down. You put it down!"

The sniper lowers his rifle but we're still not safe. Not a single one of us drops our guard.

"You want to listen to me," Alex says emphatically. "There's a lot of us."

"Where did you get the watch?" I hiss.

"I got it off of a dead one," Alex claims.

"Bullshit!" I snap.

"I didn't think he'd need it!" Alex protests.

"What about the riot gear?" Rick demands. "The poncho?"

"Got the riot gear off a dead cop," Gareth pipes up, stepping towards us with his hands raised. "Found the poncho on a clothesline."

"Gareth, we can wait," Alex says desperately.

"Shut up, Alex."

"Got an answer for everything, don't you?" I spit, gun now trained on Gareth.

"Y-"

He doesn't get a single syllable out before Rick interrupts.

"You talk to me," he orders.

"What's there left to say?" Gareth questions benignly, gaze shifting from my face to Rick's. "You don't trust us anymore."

"Gareth," Alex pleads.

"Shut up!" Gareth hisses, raising his hand.

"Gareth, please!" Alex cries.

"It's okay," Gareth soothes. "It's okay. Rick, what do you want?"

"Where are our people?" Rick asks.

"You didn't answer the question," Gareth counters. 

Rick's had enough of this. He abruptly fires a round into Alex's head, killing him instantly, and it's war. We move through the area in a cluster, dodging bullets. We pass a sniper who shoots at us, nearly hitting one of Carl's legs. I'm not wasting a bullet on these people, not until I have to. I pull one of my throwing knives from my boot and fling it, watching it arc through the air. I'm damn good with the knives. The blade pierces through the sniper's eyeball and he falls as the five of us take shelter in one of the buildings. We scramble through the building, searching for a way out. We tear back outside, bullets raining down upon us the moment we're back in the open.

"Get 'em off B!" Gareth roars.

They continue to fire at us as we pass row after row of empty train cars, stacked two high. Or at least I thought they were empty. Muffled cries for help sound from a single train car, the only one I can see that's not paired with another. They're keeping people here.

"What the hell?" Daryl snarls as we hurtle into another building.

The room we enter is… surreal. It's some kind of shrine. There are lit candles and flowers all around the room, children's toys scattered throughout. Names are written on the concrete floor.

"What the hell is this place?" Daryl wrinkles his nose in confusion, taking in our bizarre surroundings.

"This is a vigil," I breathe, reading the literal writing on the wall.

WE FIRST, ALWAYS.

NEVER TRUST.

NEVER AGAIN.

"These people, I don't think they're trying to kill us," Michonne murmurs breathlessly.

"No, they were aimin' at our feet," Rick agrees, searching for a way out of this building. "There."

We sprint towards the door he'd indicated, but it slams shut just before we reach it.

"There!" Daryl points to another set of doors.

We run for it, expecting this one to close as well, but it doesn't. We're back outside, a mere ten yards from the fence we'd hopped on our way into this hellscape. We haul ass towards it, stopping short when several armed men on the other side of the fence reveal themselves. We've been herded. Like fucking cattle.

"Damn it!" I hiss, searching for any way out of this freak show.

"Drop your weapons!" Gareth's voice rings out, standing atop a train car just behind us. "Now!  _ Now! _ "

Seeing no other choice, we do as we're told. Each weapon drops to the ground, clattering in defeat. I'm stupidly hoping he's forgotten about my concealed knives, but he hasn't.

" _ All _ of them," Gareth stares me down.

I glare at him, pulling each of my knives from their hiding spots and flinging them to the ground one by one. He just smirks.

"Ringleader, go to your left," he commands. "The train car, go. You do what we say, the boy goes with you. Anything else, he dies and you end up in there anyway."

Rick eyes Carl, then the rest of us. He nods, stepping towards the train car.

"Now the archer," Gareth instructs.

Daryl glares at him before following in Rick's footsteps.

"Now the samurai."

Ringleader, archer, samurai… he's stripping us of our identities. Carl turns his gaze to me as Michonne follows Daryl to line up behind Rick at the train car. He looks terrified. I hold his gaze, trying to exude calm. It's okay. We're okay. Do what the man says.

"And the assassin," Gareth orders, his gaze on me.

Carl's eyes widen in fear as I leave him standing alone, no one to shield him should someone fire. I walk backward, keeping my eyes on his. I got you. You're okay. Do what he says.

"Stand at the door," Gareth bellows. "Ringleader, archer, samurai, assassin, in that order."

"My son!" Rick snarls.

"Go, kid," Gareth says wearily.

Carl starts towards us and I'm proud of him. He doesn't run, shows these assholes no fear.

"Ringleader, open the door and go in," Gareth shouts.

"I'll go in with him!" Rick counters, Carl still several yards away.

"Don't make us kill him now!" Gareth threatens.

Rick concedes, walking up the steps and pulling the door open. He disappears inside, followed by Daryl and Michonne. I slowly make my way towards the steps, giving Carl time to catch up to me. Like hell I'm leaving him out here alone. They won't kill him. If they were gonna kill any of us, they would've done it already.

"Assassin, speed it up!" Gareth orders.

"Asshole, suck my nuts!" I blurt before thinking. 

Loudly.

Gareth chuckles menacingly as Carl catches up to me, the two of us walking into the darkness together. Rick pulls Carl to him as the door slides closed, sealing us inside.

"Suck my nuts?" Rick questions flatly.

"That guy's a fuckin' dick," I seethe.

"Adie?"

I know that voice. He steps out of the shadows.

"Glenn!" I choke out tearfully, hurling myself at him.

He opens his arms and we embrace each other as Maggie, Bob, Sasha, and a small handful of other people I don't recognize step closer.

"You're here," I breathe, moving to pull Maggie into my arms.

"You're here," Rick echoes, nodding like it's the most logical place in the world for them to be.

"You don't look like you got nuts to suck," a burly redheaded man observes.

"And who the hell're you?" I demand.

"They're our friends," Maggie says, rubbing my arm soothingly. "They helped save us."

"Now they're friends of ours," Daryl declares.

"For however long that'll be," the redheaded man says grimly, turning away.

"You're fun," I mutter.

"No," Rick murmurs. "They're gonna feel pretty stupid when they find out."

"Find out what?" The redheaded man asks.

"They're fuckin' with the wrong people."


	49. Somewhere Far Away From There

**Chapter 49**

"They seemed nice enough, but I was ready to go," the redheaded man, Abraham, explains. "We just got here, but damn, it was time to go. When I told them about DC, a wink and a nod from the head asshole in charge, they pulled their guns and it was right back to our regularly scheduled shit storm."

Abraham told us how they all ended up in here together. He and his companions, a fiery latina, Rosita, and Eugene, a giant nerd with a mullet, had been on a mission to get Eugene to the capitol. Apparently he's a doctor, knows how to eradicate the walkers. Reverse the disease. I'm pretty sure that's all bullshit, but I'm not gonna argue. The sooner we get out of here, the sooner Sergeant Ford and company will be outta here and I won't have to hear Eugene talk ever again.

Glenn and Tara, a girl Glenn says he picked up along the way, had happened across the three of them on the road. Somehow they'd found Maggie, Bob, and Sasha and they'd all headed for this place together. I'm pacing the car like a caged animal. I hate it in here. We've made makeshift weapons out of anything and everything we could find, now there's nothing left to do but wait. And listen to Daryl talk about Beth.

"Black car with a white cross painted on it," he's telling Maggie. "I tried to follow it. I tried."

"But she's alive?" Maggie questions hopefully.

"She's alive."

I've already heard all this. Daryl and Beth got out together. It was just them for a while, but the funeral home they'd been staying in had been overrun. He told Beth to run for the street, he'd meet her there, but by the time he got out, some assholes in a black sedan had snatched her up and taken off. I tune him out, engaging in an argument with myself.

I know it's not fair. I know it's selfish.  _ No it's not, you kissed. _ Yeah, but we weren't dating.  _ What the hell even defines dating anymore? You kissed him. He stayed the night in your bed! _ I have no right to feel betrayed.  _ Yes, you do. You told him you loved him. _ Yeah, and he didn't say it back. When we find Beth, they can get married and have eighteen babies and she can touch him whenever she wants and I won't have shit to say about it because he's not mine.  _ You thought he was. _ Yeah, maybe he could've been, but he wasn't and he isn't. I shouldn't even be worried about this right now. It doesn't fucking matter. 

Still, it hurts.

*Daryl's POV*

She's pacing again. Back and forth across the car. Eugene's eyes are glued to her ass as she moves, he ain't even tryin' to hide it. I want to pry them out of his head. She's fuming, then sad, then fuming again. Arguing with herself, I think.

"And the Governor?" Bob questions softly.

She freezes in her tracks, a deer caught in the headlights. Her eyes snap to mine suddenly, catching me watching her. She turns away, abruptly sinking to the floor in the corner, pulling her knees to her chest and staring blankly ahead, fiddling with that damn patch.

"He's dead," she says flatly.

No one argues. No one asks for clarification. She killed him, just like she said she would. _I wanted to._ Of course she wanted to, he was a monster. Rick said she missed me. I feel like I should talk to her, but I don't know what the hell to say. I thought she was dead. I told myself she was dead to get by. Seeing her, being near her… I still can't quite convince myself she's not a figment of my imagination. Still expect her to disappear every time I blink. I'm pulled from this train of thought when I hear voices outside the car. I get to my feet, peering through the crack between the wall and the door.

"All right, got four of them pricks comin' our way," I announce, watching the men approach.

"Y'all know what to do," Rick says, everyone getting to their feet and getting ready to rush them the moment the door opens. "Go for their eyes first. Then their throats."

"Put your backs to the walls at either end of the car. Now!" 

Then the hatch on the roof opens, a disembodied hand dropping a tear gas canister into the car. This ain't part of the plan.

"Move!" Abraham cries, our group parting like the Red Sea as the canister explodes.

I try to get to Adrienne before the door opens, but I can't see shit through the tears and the haze of the smoke. I can hear her, though, coughing and wheezing somewhere just out of reach.

Next thing I know, someone grabs me and I'm being gagged and restrained, thick zip ties binding me at the wrists and ankles. Then we're moving, being led into one of the buildings. I'm fighting like hell against the two men pulling me towards a large metal trough in the middle of the room. There are several men around the room, and as my eyes focus I take in the horrific scene before me. Two men beside a surgical table, one wielding a hacksaw. On the table beside them is the butchered body of a familiar man. Shit, that's Alex. Three large plastic bins across the room, each of them labelled.

BURN

FEED

WASH

What the fuck is this place? I'm forced down to my knees between Rick and Glenn, kneeling before the trough. Bob is on Rick's right and four other men are lined up on the other side of Glenn, all of them gagged and bound. Some asshole armed with a baseball bat is behind me, practicing his swing. My eyes dart back and forth, ping ponging around the room, desperately searching for some way out of this. There's none. Not a damn thing I can do. I watch in horror as two of the Terminus men approach the kid at the far end of the trough, the guy with the bat knocking the poor sumbitch unconscious as the second guy slits his throat with practiced precision, blood splattering into the trough.

The duo works their way down the line, the sharp thwack of the bat cracking against bone sending terror skittering up my spine, each one accompanied by a step closer to Glenn. Suddenly, Gareth strides into the room, scribbling feverishly in some kind of journal.

"Hey, guys?" He questions casually. "What were your shot counts?"

"38," Bat Guy responds, knocking out the man next to Glenn.

More blood spills into the trough, coalescing into a dark, crimson puddle steadily snaking towards the drain. This is it. Glenn's next. They're behind him and I can feel the fear radiating off his body. We're dead. Every muscle in my body tenses as the bat swings backward, my teeth grinding against the cloth wedged between them. But before the thwack that would kill Glenn-

"Hey!" Gareth snaps, the bat suspended in the air. "Your shot count?"

"Crap, man, I'm sorry," Knife Guy huffs. "It was my first roundup."

"After you're done here, go back to your point and count the shells," Gareth says, annoyed. "Kaylee won't be gathering them until tomorrow."

"Hey!" Bob cries, his shout muffled by his gag. "Hey, let me talk to you."

"Four from A, four from D?" Gareth questions, ignoring Bob entirely.

"Yeah."

"Hey, let me talk to you for a minute!" Bob is relentless. "Let me talk to you for a minute."

"What?" Gareth questions impatiently, pulling the gag from Bob's mouth.

"Don't do this," he urges. "We can fix this."

"No, you can't," Gareth says shortly, moving to put Bob's gag back into place.

"You don't have to do this!" Bob insists desperately, Gareth recoiling at the frantic intensity. "We told you there's a way outta all this. You just have to take the chance. We have a man who knows how to stop it. He has a cure. We just have to get him to Washington. You don't have to do this, man. We can put the world back to how it was."

"Can't go back, Bob," Gareth shakes his head, unmoved, as he shoves the gag back into his mouth, ignoring any further protests.

Gareth kneels before Rick, eyeing him appraisingly as he attempts to pull the gag from his mouth. Rick makes it difficult, though, biting down hard on the cloth while Gareth tugs. The gag inevitably comes out, though, and the two men stare each other down.

"We saw you go into the woods with a bag and come out without it," Gareth sighs, put out over this minor inconvenience. "Had to pull my spotters back before we could go look for it. What was in it? You hid it, right? In case things went bad? Smart. Still, we'll find it. But it's too dangerous to go out there right now."

He pulls a knife from his belt and roughly yanks Bob closer to him, eyeing Rick, the threat clear. Answer my questions or Bob dies.

"What was in it?" He repeats. "I'm curious. And it was a  _ big _ bag. You really gonna let me do this?"

"Well, let me take you out there," Rick says conversationally. "I'll show you."

"Not gonna happen," Gareth shakes his head, moving the knife in his hand a fraction of an inch from Bob's eyeball. "This might."

"There's guns in it," Rick announces. "AK-47, .44 Magnum. Automatic weapons. Night scope. There's a compound bow and... a machete with a red, red handle. That's what I'm gonna use to kill you."

"Thanks," Gareth beams with a chuckle, patting Rick's shoulders and replacing his gag before getting to his feet to address his men. "You have two hours to get them on the driers. I'm gonna go back to public face. Now's the time we can get messy, but we need to dial it all in by sundown."

The men behind us agree to Gareth's orders and he turns to leave. Then we hear it. Gunshots. Gareth pauses, pulling a radio from his pocket.

"Hey, Chuck?" He questions, receiving only silence as the Bat Guy rears back for the second time, ready to slaughter Glenn.

Then a single additional gunshot. Everyone in the room freezes, waiting, and something explodes outside, the force of the blast enough to send bits of the ceiling crumbling to the floor, knocking us all to the ground.

"You stay here," Gareth commands, getting to his feet.

"Gareth, these guys aren't goin' anywhere," Bat Guy protests.

"Stay here until I know what's happening!" Gareth snarls, scurrying from the room.

"So we just sit here?" Knife Guy demands.

"We got a job to do," Bat Guy points out.

"You there, Gareth?" Knife Guy says desperately into his radio, pacing in short, tight circles.

"He's busy," Bat Guy responds, unconcerned.

"You smell the smoke?" Knife Guy demands. "You hear the shots? He could be dead! The hell we doin' here? The whole place could be goin' up."

"You went on one roundup and you blew protocol," Bat Guy sighs, striding towards his colleague. "We don't deal with security. That ain't our job. This is."

"You don't know what you're talkin' about, man," Knife Guy huffs, turning on his heel and stomping away.

"Hey!" Bat Guy demands. "Look at me."

But all this bickering and bullshit has provided Rick with enough distraction to pull the shiv he'd managed to sneak in here out of the cuff of his jeans and use it to break free from his zip ties. He takes out both men in under a minute.

*Adrienne's POV*

The smell of smoke fills the air, terrible and acrid. Something's exploded out there, gunshots and shouts perforating the walls of the train car.

"What the hell is goin' on?" Abraham growls, pounding his fist against the door.

"Someone hit 'em," Michonne says.

"Maybe our people got free," Sasha points out.

"'Scuse me," Eugene mutters, barreling towards the door and crouching beside it.

"What the hell are you doing?" Rosita demands.

"I might be able to use this shell to compromise the door," he huffs, attempting to wedge the grenade shell into the small space between the door and the floor. "From the sound of things, there may not be anybody left to open it."

"Shut the hell up," I hiss, refusing to believe Daryl's dead. Or worse. "They're  _ not _ dead! They're gonna be back and we need to be ready to haul ass outta here when they are. Abraham, give me a boost? I wanna try that hatch."

Abraham obliges, allowing me to straddle his shoulders, lifting me like it's nothing. I press my hands flat against the underside of the hatch and push with every ounce of strength I have in me. Miraculously, it flies open with ease. They hadn't locked it.

"Holy shit," Abraham grunts.

"Holy shit!" I crow happily, scrambling up through the hatch and onto the roof of the train car.

Jesus... I take in the scene before me. It's chaos. A herd of walkers have breached the fences around Terminus. I squint into the sudden blinding light of day, and see the massive plume of black smoke on the other side of the station but can't identify the source. The place is crawling with walkers, some of them on fire. Looks like we're fighting our way out.

"What do you see?" Abraham demands.

"I need a weapon!" I hiss down to my comrades below. "There's walkers, but if I can clear enough of 'em from the door, I can get it open."

Maggie tosses me a wooden shiv. This'll do. It's gonna have to.

*Daryl's POV*

"If they got problems, we got a chance," Rick declares.

"It sounded like a bomb!" Glenn says, eyes wide with worry.

"Oh, it sounds like a damn war," I mutter breathlessly, getting to my feet.

"Right there," Rick points out a table covered in knives and surgical equipment.

"What the hell are these people?" Bob questions, horrified.

"They ain't people." I counter, selecting two knives from the table, tucking one into my belt for Adie, and moving into the next room.

The four of us are shocked at what awaits us there. Meat hooks suspended on an iron chain,  _ human _ torsos dangling from each one. Cleaned, the same way you'd clean a deer or any other large game. They're cannibals. This place is a fucking slaughterhouse. My gut flips, I'm suddenly overcome with the fear that Adrienne and the others may not be there when we get back.

"Cross any of these people, you kill 'em," Rick commands, his lip curling in disgust. "Don't hesitate. They won't."

We take anything we can use as a weapon and head for the door, eyeing a train car surrounded by a handful of walkers, a man's muffled cries echoing from inside.

"If we run, we can get by 'em," Rick strategizes. "They're distracted."

"We gotta let those people out," Glenn protests. "That's still who we are. It's gotta be."

Rick nods and we sprint towards the car, taking out the walkers with practiced efficiency. Glenn yanks open the door, a single man hurtling out from inside and lunging at us.

"We're the same!" He shrieks. "We're them!"

"Back off!" Rick roars, the unhinged man giggling.

"We're the same," he cackles maniacally, backing directly into a walker.

So much for that. This place is like a damn maze, the four of us working our way through the walkers in search of A. Our people. We're on B, a whole mess of corpses between us and them.

"We gotta double back," Bob insists, staring at the shambling herd.

"A is that way," Rick points out. "We go back, we don't know where we are."

"We don't really have a choice, do we?" I counter.

"Wait here," Rick orders, hurling himself into the fray as a small group of Terminus people approach, mowing down the walkers for us.

God damn it. He's just like Adrienne. No regard for his own goddamn safety. A walker comes up behind him and I break away from Bob and Glenn, plunging the metal pipe I'd picked up in the room with the meat hooks into the walker's head just before it can chomp down on Rick's neck. Rick lunges for the man at the tail end of the Terminus group, disarming him and shooting the rest down. The walkers drop to their hands and knees, all too eager for the all you can eat fucking buffet Rick just provided them. Our path is clear for the time being, and now we have real weapons. We haul ass back to Bob and Glenn.

"We don't have to double back," Rick says, handing Bob and Glenn each a gun we'd pilfered from the cannibals.

We tear towards our train car, hoping desperately our people are still in it. Alive.

"What the hell is she doin'?" Rick groans disparagingly.

I follow his gaze, knowing who  _ 'she' _ is before I see her. Adrienne, flinging herself from the roof of the train car, armed with nothing more than a glorified stick. 

Jesus Christ.

*Adrienne's POV*

I hurl myself off the side of the train car, landing hard on my side. I don't have time for pain. Not yet. I scramble to my feet, pressing my back to the train car as several walkers come at me. Gripping the shiv in my hand, I plunge it into each walker as they come, sidling my way along the car towards the steps. Finally I reach the door, flinging it open just as Rick, Glenn, Bob, and Daryl emerge from the swarm around us.

"Are you crazy?" Glenn snarls, glaring at me.

"C'mon, fight to the fence!" Rick roars, firing a rifle into the herd.

"Where the hell did you get that?" I demand, burying my pathetic weapon into another dead asshole as we work our way to the fence.

"Do not leave his side!" Abraham commands, evidently under the delusion that Eugene is everyone's priority.

I lodge my shiv into another walker's eye socket, but can't get it out as another one closes in on me. God damn it. I plunge my thumbs into its eyeballs, then twist and hurl the walker's head repeatedly into the side of the train car.

"C'mon!" Daryl grunts, placing a large knife into my hands as the corpse falls.

We move across the compound together, the dozen of us against the dead. I run my blade through walker after walker, not realizing I've fallen behind until the others are all up and over the fence, and I'm still on the ground. I lose count of how many I take out, my back against the chain link. There's a break in the wave and I take my chance, scrambling up the fence and landing on the other side with the rest of the group.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Glenn demands breathlessly.

"I don't know what you're talkin' about, Glum," I mutter nonchalantly.

"We had enough to worry about without your little leap of faith stunt!" He snaps.

"We didn't know if  _ you all _ needed help, or if you were even comin' back at all!" I hiss, incensed. "You'd've done the same damn thing!"

He can't argue with this, and we work our way back to the spot Rick had buried the weapons, following Daryl.

"Right here," he points, unearthing the small spade Rick had used to dig the hole and tossing it to him.

"The hell are we still around here for?" Abraham demands.

"Guns, some supplies," Rick says, digging up the bag. "Go along the fences. Use the rifles. Take out the rest of 'em."

"What?" Bob questions derisively.

"They don't get to live," Rick says darkly.

"Rick, we got out," Glenn points out. "It's over."

"It's not over til they're all dead," Rick insists, loading his gun.

"The hell it isn't," Rosita argues. "That place is on  _ fire. _ Full of walkers."

"I'm not dickin' around with this crap," Abraham gripes. "We just made it out."

"The fences are down," Maggie sighs heavily. "They'll run or die."

Rick looks like he might argue, but we have a visitor emerging from the trees. She's covered in mud and blood and guts, Daryl's crossbow over her shoulder. Before anyone can make a move or utter a single word, Daryl flies towards her, lifting her up and wrapping her into a bear hug. I walk towards her, tears already flowing.  _ Carol. _ She did this. Daryl places her back on her own two feet, his head dropping to her shoulder. She meets my eyes and holds her hand out for me, pulling me into her arms as Daryl releases her. I collapse into the woman, sobs wracking my body while she holds me tight.

I didn't think I'd ever see her again. Rick had filled me in on our way to Terminus. She killed Karen and David, just like I'd suspected. Rick exiled her while Daryl, Ty, Bob, and Michonne were on the med run, believing it was the only thing to do to avoid Ty's vengeance. To avoid more killing.

"Did you do that?" Rick questions from behind me.

Carol kisses my head and lets me go, pushing me gently towards Daryl before turning to Rick. My hand finds Daryl's, fingers automatically curling around his, the two of us sniffling while we watch Carol nod, she and Rick embracing. His hand in mine feels so damn right it takes me a moment to question it and I almost,  _ almost  _ can't find it in me to let go, but… Beth. I'd never do anything to hurt her. He's not mine. I pull my hand from his and step aside, wrapping my arms tightly around myself.

"You have to come with me," Carol says urgently through the tears.

She leads us out of the woods to a small cabin, a man holding a baby stepping out the front door as we approach. Hold the fuck up. Rick, Carl, and Sasha drop everything and tear towards Tyreese, the man holding Judith. Rick gathers his daughter into his arms, sobbing as he and Carl reunite with the baby they thought they'd lost for good.

-

"I don't know if the fire's still burnin'," Rick says eventually.

"It is," Carol says, eyeing the thick, black smoke still pluming above the treeline.

"Yeah… we need to go," Rick announces.

"Yeah, but where?" Daryl questions.

"Somewhere far away from there," Rick says.

With that, our now much larger group hits the road. Daryl and I fall into step on either side of Carol. She slings an arm around each of us and we walk. We have no real destination in mind, but we're together. We're alive. We're gonna be okay.

*Daryl's POV*

We've stopped to make camp for the night. Again. We've been walking through the woods for two days, just trying to get as far from Terminus as we can. No one really knows where the hell to go from here, but as long as we keep moving, we'll find a place. We will. I'm slumped against a tree, Carol sitting silently by my side. Our family… I didn't dare believe they were still alive. I gave up. Beth didn't. She was right the whole damn time. Somehow, here we are. Most of us. Almost all of us. The ones I care about the most. We're alive.

Still, I really only got eyes for one of 'em. Adrienne, the low flames casting a faint glow on her skin. Even sick, exhausted, covered in ashes and blood, she's… she's just something else.

She's sitting near the fire, Eugene at her side, desperately trying and failing to engage her in conversation. He's been glued to her all night. She's looking around the group and I see it in her face. The shock, the wonder, the overwhelming gratitude that we're all together again. The love she feels for our people. I don't think she quite can believe it yet, neither. Carol's silence is growing louder. I turn my eyes to her, waiting for her to spit out whatever's on her mind.

"I don't wanna talk about it," she mutters, avoiding my gaze. "I can't. I just need to forget it."

"All right."

I ain't gonna make her. She ain't a murderer. She was trying to keep the people we love safe. There's honor in that. I'm just happy to have her back.

"So," she blurts abruptly. "You gonna tell me what's goin' on with you and Adie?"

"Nothin'," I shrug, not sure what she's getting at.

"Uh-huh," she scoffs, eyeing Adie and chuckling softly when the redhead rolls her eyes at whatever bullshit Eugene's feeding her. "You two haven't said one word to each other. What happened?"

Before I can answer her, there's a rustling in the trees behind us. Adrienne's on her feet immediately, squinting into the woods, pulling her knife when a twig snaps. Carol and I are in similar stances, but if there's something there it ain't coming for us. I hold my hand up as Adrienne approaches, and she freezes.

"It's nothin'," I murmur after a moment, the rustling gone.

Some rabbit or something, just passing through. Only it don't feel like a rabbit. It feels… I dunno, I don't like it. It don't feel like we're alone out here. Adie just nods and resumes her position at the fire, Eugene's relentless diatribe picking up where it left off. She looks like she might strangle him. I'm about there myself. I hate the way he looks at her. Carol eyes me knowingly.

Ignoring her, I settle back down for the night against my chosen tree. From this vantage point I can keep an eye on the entire camp, not just Adie. Still, my gaze strays to her more often than I'd like to admit. Carol don't say another word about it, but I can tell she wants to. Truth is, I don't know what to say to her. Hey, I convinced myself you were dead and so was everyone else and didn't even bother looking 'cause I didn't wanna know if it was true or not. Sorry about that. She told me she loved me, what the hell am I supposed to tell her now? How can I justify not even  _ trying _ to look for her?

"Shooters, Eugene," she snaps wearily. "I played shooters. I don't even know what the hell  _ sim racin' _ is, and I don't  _ want _ to know what it is 'cause it doesn't matter now anyway. I'm an Aries, my favorite color's black, my favorite food groups are fats, protein, dairy, fruits and vegetables, then grains,  _ in that order, _ no, I don't think this is what killed off the dinosaurs, yes, I did see the 1993 classic, Jurassic Park, and I know a half dozen ways to kill you with my thumbs." 

"Do not threaten him," Abraham growls.

"I'm not threatenin' him, I'm educatin' him. Do you feel threatened, Eugene?"

"No."

"Is there anything  _ else _ you would like to ask me?"

Eugene looks terrified, pouting and gazing nervously at the fire.

"I'm goin' over there now," she points to where Rick is seated, Judith sleeping in his arms. "And  _ you _ are stayin' here."

"Okay."

"Do not follow me."

"Okay."

She gets to her feet, cuts across the camp and settles into the dirt beside Rick with a heavy sigh. Guess she don't much care for Eugene, either.

*Adrienne's POV*

"You don't seem to like him much," Rick observes quietly.

"I think he's a lyin' sack of shit," I mutter, gently stroking Judith's hair with my fingertips. "And  _ nosy. _ "

"You okay?" He questions, carefully maneuvering the sleeping baby into my arms.

"Yeah," I sigh, cradling Judith to my chest, tears pricking at the backs of my eyes. "Yeah, I'm okay. You're not, though."

"What?" He breathes, his gaze snapping to my face.

"What happened the other night," I murmur. "You're scared of it. Of the things you're capable of doin'."

"Yeah," he admits after a moment. "I am."

"I know," I nod, smiling sadly. "Back at the prison, when I saw my dad, when I, when I thought he was gonna get away  _ again… _ I just...  _ lost _ it. I didn't get on the bus, didn't run because… I couldn't let 'im walk away. And I had to. I had to be the one, it had to be me."

"Hey," he soothes. "Hey,  _ no one _ blames you for that."

"I shot him, Rick," I point out flatly. "I don't even know how many times. I had him, could've killed him quick but… I  _ wanted _ him to suffer for what he did to me, what he took from us. So I shot him where I knew it'd hurt but wouldn't kill 'im. Then I stabbed 'im, too. I couldn't… I couldn't stop, I didn't  _ want _ to, but… it was selfish. Somethin' I did, the  _ way _ I did it... it was for me."

Rick is silent now. What can he say to that, really?

"I ever tell you it was Carl who saved me?" I question softly. "Comin' outta the city? It wasn't… it wasn't Shane. I was in rough shape, just tryin' to get to higher ground, but I was…" I trail off, swallowing, not wanting to admit I'd been coming down from cocaine the morning I met his son. "Carl made 'em pull over, made 'em help me," I chuckle quietly, shaking my head. "The  _ violence…  _ it's  _ in _ me. It's always been there, I just never…"

I trail off, at a loss. I don't know how to explain it, but the violence, this  _ anger… _ it's been part of me for a long time, long before the world ended. I don't even know who I'm so pissed at. My dad, my mama,  _ myself. _ Before, I took it out on my body. I trained until my body felt like it was on fire, I hit things until I bled and kept hitting 'em, ran until I puked… everyone seems to think exercise is such a healthy coping skill, and it can be, but for me… for me it was something else.

"You lost it a little that night, but that's not you, Rick," I continue. "It's not. It's what this world  _ forces _ you to be to keep the people you love alive. What Carl did for me that night comin' outta Atlanta… that's who you are. You save people.  _ You _ taught 'im that. You're a good man Rick, a good  _ father. _ He's lucky."

Rick eyes me, his gaze boring into mine as though searching for the lie, for some sign of condemnation. He won't find it. I know part of him feels like a monster for what he did, but… if it hadn't been him, it would've been me or Michonne or Daryl. Any of us would've done the same. We're a family. Carl's  _ ours. _ We'd kill for him,  _ die _ for him, just as readily as Rick would. Rick softens, nodding. He knows I mean what I say.

"You should sleep," he suggests, reaching for Judith.

I nod, gently pressing a kiss to the sleeping baby's cheek before placing her into his arms. I'm not gonna sleep. He knows I'm not. But we both know he suggested as much so I'd leave him to his own thoughts. The rest of the night is uneventful and by the asscrack of dawn, we're back on the move, putting as much distance as possible between us and the fucking cannibal nightmare behind us. Daryl's gone off into the woods, tracking whatever it was we heard scuttling around outside our camp last night. I know he can take care of himself, but not being able to see him makes my anxiety spike like nothing else can. I'm still terrified he's gonna disappear.

I'm broken from my thoughts by the sound of footsteps approaching. Several of us cock our weapons as the owner of the footsteps appears. Relief floods through me. It's just Daryl. He's back, toting a half dozen squirrels on a string. He takes in the raised guns, putting his hands up.

"We surrender," he quips, all of us lowering our weapons as he falls into step with the group. "No tracks. No nothin'."

"So whatever you heard last night…" Rick trails off.

"It's more what I felt," Daryl mutters. "If someone was watchin' us, there woulda been somethin'."

"Keep close," Rick instructs the group, reigning us in with a whistle.

"Ready to get some concrete under your feet?" Abraham asks him.

He's been campaigning to get us on the road since we broke camp this morning. He's chomping at the bit to find a car and get Eugene to DC. I still think it's bullshit. Eugene's smart, sure, but I don't buy that he's a doctor of jack shit.

"I think it's time," Rick agrees, nodding.

"That is sweet music to my ears, officer," Abraham says appreciatively. "Take the next road we come to, try to get back to goin' north til we find a vehicle. Good?"

"Good," Rick assents, turning to our stragglers. "Tighten it up."

Bob and Sasha are a thing now. They've been passing the time playing this inane little game, good outta the bad. Sasha points out something that fucking sucks and Bob, the eternal optimist, flips it to make it good. It's grating.

"Uh… wet socks," Sasha says.

"Cool feet," Bob counters.

"Mosquito bites."

"Itching reminds you you're alive."

"Danger around every corner."

"Never a dull moment."

"The hot sun beating down on you."

"Come on," Bob scoffs, gesturing at my angry, sunburned arms. "A glorious tan."

"Laugh it up, Bob," I hiss, most of the group chuckling at my plight.

"I said it and I meant it," Bob laughs.

"Hey, I have one," I huff. "My foot in your ass."

"A reminder that some things never change," Bob says cheekily.

The group chuckles again, a small snort of laughter escaping even Daryl.

"No privacy," Sasha continues the game.

"Captive audience," Bob fires back, the two sharing a kiss. "One more."

They kiss a couple more times, and I avert my eyes uncomfortably. Yeah, it's sweet. They're good together, they balance each other, and I'm glad they're happy. Almost out of habit, I sneak a glance at Daryl. He's staring straight ahead, his ears the color of my hair. Guess PDA still makes him uncomfortable, no matter who's doing it.

"Help!" A man's shriek pierces the air.

Finally. A decent distraction. Or not. Rick holds up a hand, stopping anyone before we can make a move.

"Dad, come on!" Carl protests, urging us to take action. "Come on. Come on!"

So we do, all of us tearing off in the direction of the cries. We come across a group of walkers surrounding a large rock, atop which is the screaming man. He's in full priest regalia despite the scorching heat. Having become quite seasoned in our time, we lunge at the walkers, taking them all down in under two minutes. We're the apocalyptic dream team, brutal and efficient.

"We're clear," I announce, walking the perimeter of the boulder.

"Keep watch," Rick instructs the group at large, approaching the terrified priest. "Come on down."

He slides down from the rock, eyeing us all nervously. He's trembling with fear. Good. There's a small part of me that truly enjoys being part of something so damn intimidating. People aren't likely to fuck with us after seeing what we're capable of and I like that.

"You okay?" Rick asks him.

He nods. But he's not okay. He jerks to the side abruptly and vomits violently.

"Jesus," I mutter, skittering backward to avoid the spew.

"Sorry," he whispers when he's finished, eyeing me apologetically as he straightens back up to face Rick. "Yes. Thank you. I'm Gabriel."

A priest named Gabriel? Perfect. I snort and Michonne elbows me with a glare. Be nice, her eyes say. I will not.

"Like the angel?" I question derisively, earning a snicker from Abraham.

"Do you have any weapons on you?" Rick demands, silencing me with a glance.

"Do I look like I would have any weapons?" Gabriel asks, chuckling.

"We don't give two short 'n curlies what it looks like," Abraham glares, any trace of good humor gone from his voice.

"I have no weapons of any kind," Gabriel declares.

"Not even the good book?" I blurt, earning another elbow from Michonne.

"The word of God is the only protection I need," Gabriel announces with conviction.

"There it is," I scoff, throwing my hands up.

"Sure didn't look like it," Daryl points out, eyeing me with a faint smirk.

"I called for help," Gabriel says with a nervous chuckle. "Help came. Do you have, have any food? Whatever I, I had left it uh, it just hit the ground."

"We got some pecans," Carl offers, holding out the handful of nuts he's been keeping in his pocket.

"Thank you," Gabriel says emphatically, taking them as Judith begins to coo. "That's a beautiful child. Do you have a camp?"

"No," Rick says flatly. "Do you?"

"I have a church," Gabriel admits.

"Hold your hands above your head," Rick orders, his already limited patience with this man stretched to nothing.

I hold my gun on Gabriel as Rick pats him down, on the off chance his word of God is actually a Smith and Wesson.

"How many walkers have you killed?" Rick questions.

"Not any, actually," Gabriel says, eyeing the bodies on the ground.

"Turn around," Rick instructs. "How many people have you killed?"

"None," Gabriel says, horrified.

"Why?" Rick demands.

"Because the Lord abhors violence," Gabriel counters pointedly.

"Does he, now?" I ask, arching an eyebrow. "Have you actually  _ read _ the Bible?"

"What have you done?" Rick questions quietly, the priest now shifting about nervously.

Rick glances at me, another wordless exchange between the two of us while Gabriel sweats bullets in the silence.

_ What do you think? _

_ Self righteous shithead. He's hiding something. _

_ He has a church.  _

_ And? _

_ Might be worth checking out. _

_ Maybe. It's walls, at least. Might not be empty, though. _

Rick nods, considering. Then he turns back to Gabriel, who still hasn't answered his last question.

"We've all done somethin'," he presses.

"I'm a sinner," Gabriel admits. "I sin almost every day. But those sins, I confess them to God, not strangers."

"God didn't just save your ass," I hiss.

"I beg to differ," Abraham quips, a self satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Beg all you want," I counter, elbowing the military man with a snort.

"For you?" Abe winks exaggeratedly. "Yes, ma'am."

Daryl makes a noise of disgust, turning away with a scoff. I glare at him, wondering what the hell his issue is. Why should he give a damn what Abraham says to me? I decide I don't care, Abraham and I sharing a chuckle.

"Abraham!" Rosita snaps, annoyed with her man's mild flirtation.

"You said you had a church?" Michonne asks, turning the conversation back to a more pressing topic.

The priest nods. Abe slings his arm around Rosita, nuzzling her neck. She giggles, slightly mollified, and we're off, following the stranger into the unknown. This church better be legit. That's all I have to say.


	50. What If You Can't?

**Chapter 50**

"Hey, earlier…" Rick muses, eyeing Gabriel. "Were you watchin' us?"

"I keep to myself," Gabriel replies. "Nowadays, people are just as dangerous as the dead, don't you think?"

"No," Rick argues.

"People are worse," Daryl and I speak at the same time, finishing Rick's statement in sync, exchanging a startled glance and falling silent.

"Well, I wasn't watching you," Gabriel insists. "I haven't been beyond the stream near my church more than a few times since it all started. That was the furthest I've gone before today."

How the hell has this man survived?

"Or maybe I'm lying," Gabriel says abruptly. "Maybe I'm lying about everything and there's no church ahead at all. Maybe I'm leading you into a trap so I can steal all your squirrels."

He chuckles, eyeing the squirrels in question, still dangling from Daryl's back. Ignorant fuck. He has no idea what it's like out here. What kind of people we've encountered. I place myself in front of him, damn near nose to nose as I stare him down.

"That better be your idea of a joke," I state calmly, voice low. "Because if it isn't, I'll burn your church to the ground with you inside it, so help me  _ God. _ "

"Members of my flock had often told me that my sense of humor leaves much to be desired," Gabriel says nervously.

"Yeah, it does." Daryl agrees, taking me by elbow and pulling me gently away from the priest.

We come to a clearing and sure enough, there is indeed a church. St. Sarah's Episcopalian. I hate it already.

"Hold up," Rick says as Gabriel prepares to open the doors. "Can we take a look around first? We just wanna hold on to our squirrels."

He eyes the priest pointedly, and Gabriel hands over the keys. Rick heads inside, followed by Michonne, Daryl, me, Carol, and Glenn. The rest of our group hangs back, watching the perimeter and keeping an eye on Gabriel. We make our way through the chapel to the rooms behind the pulpit. Daryl points to one of the doors and I nod, the two of us covering each other as we enter the small room. There's nothing here of any significance, though Daryl's eyes linger on a wooden carving depicting the last supper hanging on the wall. I wonder what he's thinking.

"Clear," I murmur as Rick whistles, signalling us back to the chapel.

Having found the church devoid of any threat, we head back outside to inform the others.

"I spent months in here without stepping out the front door," Gabriel points out as we file out of his church. "If you found someone inside… well, it would've been surprising."

"Thanks for this," Carl pipes up, clinging to Judy.

"We found a short bus out back," Abraham informs us. 

"White cross on the back?" I question, knowing it's a long shot, but… what if?

"No," Maggie shakes her head. "I checked."

"It don't run, but I bet we could fix that in less than a day or two," Abe continues. "Father here says he doesn't want it. Looks like we found ourselves some transport. You understand what's at stake here, right?"

"Yes, I do," Rick states evenly.

"Now that we can take a breath-"

"We take a breath, we slow down, shit inevitably  _ goes _ down." Abraham says, interrupting Michonne.

"We need supplies," she fires back. "No matter what we do next."

"That's right," Rick nods. "Water, food, ammunition."

"Short bus ain't goin' nowhere," Daryl points out. "We'll bring you back some baked beans."

I snort and follow Daryl inside, taking a seat in the pews as the others file through the doors.

"How'd you survive here for so long?" Rick demands, eyeing the priest. "Where did your supplies come from?"

"Luck," Gabriel informs him. "Our annual canned food drive. Things fell apart right after we finished it. It was just me."

"Wow," I simper sarcastically. "That's  _ lucky. _ "

"The food lasted a long time," Gabriel continues, ignoring me. "And then I started scavenging. I've cleaned out every place nearby. Except for one."

"What kept you from it?" Rick questions.

"It's overrun," Gabriel says simply.

"How many?" Rick demands.

"A dozen or so," Gabriel replies. "Maybe more."

"There's more of us," I point out, exchanging a glance with Rick. "Probably wouldn't even take all of us, just three or four."

"We can handle a dozen," he agrees.

"Bob and I will go with you," Sasha volunteers. "Tyreese should stay here, help keep Judith safe."

"That'll be okay?" Rick asks, eyeing Ty.

"Sure," Ty nods, more than happy to stay out of the action. "You ever need me to watch her, need anything for her, I'm right here."

"I'm grateful for it," Rick nods. "And everything else."

"I'll draw you a map," Gabriel announces.

"You don't need to," Rick points out. "You're comin' with us."

"I'm not gonna be of any help," the priest protests, blanching. "You saw me. I'm no good around those things."

"You're comin' with us," Rick repeats firmly.

There's a bit more discussion about who's going where and, ultimately, I've been delegated to water duty with Carol and Daryl. Rick, Michonne, Sasha, Bob, and the priest are going to the food bank down the way. I'd volunteered to go, but Rick doesn't wanna risk me losing my temper with our gracious host.  _ My  _ temper. No, that's bullshit. He's doing this on purpose, forcing Daryl and me together. I know his intentions are good, but the more time I spend with Daryl, the harder it's gonna be to get over him.

Nevertheless, Rick's the boss, so I head on down to the stream without a fuss, where we fill six one gallon jugs with water between the three of us. I'm silent, content just listening to Carol and Daryl chat idly. Then Carol addresses me abruptly.

"Adie, do you believe in God?"

"No."

"You just… you seem uncomfortable with Father Gabriel," she hedges.

"I think he's shady, but not 'cause he's a priest," I tell her honestly, putting the cap on my second jug of water with a heavy sigh. "My dad was a God fearin' man. My parents and me, we went to church every Sunday when I was little. He'd dress me up and parade me around like…" I trail off, scoffing bitterly. "I didn't believe in God before all this, never did. The way I see it,  _ if _ God exists, he's a real asshole."

I head off along the road, making my way back towards the church before I can be engaged in any more conversation. I don't wanna talk about church or God or any of that shit. I'd  _ like _ to believe in Hell, I'd  _ like _ to think my father is burning for all eternity with the rest of the men who ever dared look at a child like an adult, but I can't accept the idea that an all powerful,  _ fair _ being on high would allow something like that to happen in the first place. Carol and Daryl follow behind me, talking hushedly amongst themselves. It feels intrusive, but I can't tune them out so I listen.

"Hey, I get it," Daryl says quietly. "You don't wanna talk about it. You okay?"

"Gotta be," she replies, an echo of his own words back at the prison after Patrick… after the sickness.

"We get to start over," Daryl tells her. "All of us with each other."

"You gonna tell Adie that?" She counters softly, and I hope they can't see me blush.

"You saved us all by yourself," Daryl continues, ignoring the question entirely.

My heart sinks. Of course he's not gonna tell me that. If there was ever something between us… that's over now. He moved on, and he has that right.

"We got lucky," she blows him off. "We all should be dead."

But we're not dead. We're not. At this point we've spotted a car off the side of the road.

"I'll check it," Carol announces, flying past me.

She tries the keys, still in the ignition. The car doesn't start, which comes as no surprise. It's in good condition, just sitting here with the keys in it. If it ran, someone would have taken it by now. Carol hops out, rounding the car and rummaging around in the trunk. There's a portable power supply with a battery backup nestled inside. She flips the switch on, the machine humming to life. Turns out this thing might be salvageable after all. I set the water down and climb up onto the roof, standing watch while Carol pilfers what she can from the car. Better vantage point up here.

"Hey," Daryl blurts, eyeing the woman. "We ain't dead. 'N whatever happened… happened. Let's start over."

"I want to," Carol says, and I can tell she means it.

"Well, you can," Daryl insists.

"We should leave this here for backup, in case things go south at the church," Carol changes the subject, closing the trunk and picking up her two gallons of water.

"Want me to carry one of those?" Daryl questions as I slide down from the top of the car, thrusting his hand forward to relieve Carol of some of her burden.

Unfortunately, he loses his grip on his own gallon, flinging it to the ground where it breaks open with a splash. Carol's trying not to laugh but I can't help it, giggles bubbling from my mouth before I can stop myself. Daryl's ears turn red and I sober up, crouching down to pick up the gallon before all the water leaks out.

"Mmm, no," Carol says teasingly as I hand the now lighter gallon back to Daryl.

I pick up my own gallons and the three of us trek on back to the church. We get there just before sunset, everyone else already back from their various runs. We all settle in, with walls and plenty of food for the first time in what feels like eternity. The priest even breaks out the communion wine. The whole thing feels bizarrely like a potluck. I feel incredibly out of place. I snag a bottle of wine and pick a pew in the back corner, watching my family and our new friends eat and laugh together. It's comforting, seeing them happy. Sheltered, fed. Alive. I take a sip from my bottle each time my eyes stray towards Daryl, which is more often than I care to admit.

I just can't shake the feeling that this is the calm before the inevitable shitstorm Abraham mentioned earlier. The priest is hiding something. Carl found scratches on the outside of the church house, deep gouges near the windows. Like someone was trying desperately to get in. That's not as alarming, though, as the words etched into the siding.  _ You'll burn for this. _ What's our priest gonna burn for?

"I'd like to propose a toast," Abraham announces, standing with his glass raised. "I look around this room and I see survivors. Each and every one of you has earned that title. To the survivors."

There's a chorus of  _ 'survivors' _ and  _ 'cheers' _ as we all drink. I lift the bottle to my lips without a word.

"Is that all you wanna be?" Abraham questions. "Wake up in the mornin', fight the undead pricks, forage for food, go to sleep at night with two eyes open, rinse and repeat? 'Cause you can do that. I mean, you got the strength. You got the skill. Thing is, for you people, for what you can do? Well, that's just surrender. Now, we get Eugene to Washington and he will make the dead die and the living will have this world again, and that is  _ not _ a bad takeaway for a little road trip."

"All due respect," I blurt. "Eugene still hasn't managed to explain how he plans to unfuck the world beyond a bunch of condescending and vague, albeit many syllabled, bullshit," I pause for a beat, glancing at Eugene's stricken face. "No offense,  _ doctor. _ "

"Eugene, what's in DC?" Abraham questions, eyeing me with an odd look on his face.

He's not mad at me for shooting my mouth off. Actually, he's looking at me with what looks an awful lot like respect. I tip the bottle back to my lips.

"Infrastructure constructed to withstand pandemics even of this fubar magnitude," Eugene declares. "That means food, fuel, refuge. Restart."

"However this plays out, however long it takes for the reset button to kick in, you can be safe there," Abraham says. "Safer than you've been since this whole thing started. Come with us. Save the world for that little one," he nods, eyeing Judy. "Save it for yourselves. Save it for the people you love."

My eyes are pulled like magnets to Daryl at that last statement, and I'm startled to find him staring right back at me. His ears flush red, his gaze dropping to the floor. No. Must be the alcohol. Lack of sleep. I imagined it. I take another drink.

"Save it for the people out there…" Abraham continues. "Who don't got nothin' left to do except survive."

There's a heavy silence before Rick lets out a soft chuckle. Judith coos happily in response.

"What was that?" Rick asks her tenderly. "I think she knows what I'm about to say. She's in. If she's in, I'm in. We're in."

Unbelievable. I can't be the only one who smells bullshit all over this supposed doctor. This is gonna be the CDC all over again. Miles and miles of hostile territory before we get to a city bound to be crawling with corpses. Oh, well, I guess. Maybe I'll be lucky enough to take down some undead politicians before I go out. I take another sip of wine.

-

"I am keenly aware that you do not possess a fondness for me," Eugene blathers, taking a seat beside me. 

Son of a bitch. I press my bottle to my lips, not bothering to even glance his way as a scooch away from him. 

"But I cannot presume to pretend I have not taken notice of that which you do possess," he continues, unaffected by my complete and utter lack of interest. "I have closely observed you in our time together and have arrived at the conclusion that you occupy a tier of resplendence and charm matched only by the allure and desirability of Miss Espinosa herself."

"Eugene, what the hell do you want?" I ask flatly.

"I believe you would accept an invitation for a night of coital-"

"No."

"Correct me if I'm mistaken in my hypothesis that women such as yourself, promiscuous and or deviant in nature, wield your sublime pulchritude in much the same way you would any other weapon," he presses.

"Eugene!" I hiss, glaring. " _Correct me if I'm mistaken in my hypothesis_ that you are an egotistical, condescending, _and or_ peremptory man operatin' under the wildly misguided assumption that I am either desperate enough to have sex with you simply because you made the offer or stupid enough not to understand exactly what it is you're askin' for usin' your big person words. You're more than welcome to go fuck yourself if you need to, but you stay the hell away from me."

"I-" he barely manages to squeak out a single syllable before he's interrupted.

"She said no," Daryl growls, materializing seemingly out of nowhere.

Eugene, suddenly looking like he may very well piss himself, gets to his feet and scuttles off without another word. Women like you, he said. I'm surprised to realize I'm crying. I press the bottle to my lips once more. I know it's not the brightest plan, but I need something. Daryl shifts uncomfortably before perching himself on the pew beside me.

"You all right?" He asks softly.

"Promiscuous and or deviant," I chuckle bitterly, wiping the tears away. "Fanciest way I've ever been called a slut. I'm honored, really."

"You gon' listen to that dumbass?" He questions incredulously. "He's full of shit."

"No, he's right," I blurt, unable to meet his eyes, more tears falling despite my best efforts. "Before all this... wasn't a whole lot I wouldn't do. Didn't care as long as I felt like someone gave a shit for ten minutes. Sometimes less," I chuckle again, taking another long sip. "You know where I was when all this happened? I was in this tiny shithole apartment. High. I was only allowed to live there 'cause I was sleepin' with the guy on the lease." 

I hiccup. Fuck. Wine buzzed is a whole different beast. In vino veritas or whatever. When Daryl says nothing, I keep going. He must think I'm such a piece of shit. I don't know why I'm telling him all this. Maybe part of me needs him to hate me so I can let him go.

"I'd just got outta the hospital from this shit," I raise my left arm, scar plainly visible even in the low light. "Had nowhere else to go, wasn't plannin' on stickin' around much longer anyway, but... it was easy. I could pretend life didn't fuckin' suck, stay high all the time... I was useless. We were watchin' the news. Chris, my… my roommate, and his friend Ian, and Ian was on somethin' like he always was. Hell, we all were. Anyway, Ian shoots up, says he's gotta take a piss, disappears to the bathroom."

I pause, collecting myself. I can't tell him about Chris, about how he had me on his lap, how he was pressing up against me, how he wouldn't stop...

"I dunno how long he was in there, but he was dead when he came out. I think… I think he OD'd. I think he was dead for a while, just down the hallway and… and I didn't  _ notice. _ "

He's silent, still, just staring at me with that look he gets sometimes, like he can see right into my soul. I can never tell if he's bothered by what he sees. I take another large sip of wine for lack of anything else to do.

"I should've died there, in that shithole," I point out, nodding solemnly to myself. "I probably would've if… if it weren't for the turn. I dunno… I dunno when my life got so off track, you know?" I let out another bitter chuckle. "I was gonna go to college and… Jesus, I wish I could go back and just… just _be_ _better._ Not some fuckin'... strung out waste of space."

*Daryl's POV*

She's drunk. Wine drunk. Well, maybe not drunk, she seems lucid enough. But very much buzzed.

"I'm sorry," she sniffles, roughly shoving the bottle into my hands and swiping at her tears. "I dunno why I'm tellin' you all this."

I take a small drink, not wanting to make her feel bad, before setting the bottle on the floor beneath the pew in front of us. I wish I knew what the hell to say to her. I know she's been through some heavy shit, but this girl… she don't realize she ain't broken, that there ain't a damn thing wrong with her. That she's  _ worth _ something.  _ Survivors. _ Adrienne embodies the word. She's been fighting monsters her whole life, and some of 'em live inside her, same as me. I think of what Beth said, that night we got wasted and burned down that shithole we were staying in.

"That ain't you," I tell her. "You gotta… you gotta stay who you are, not who you were. You gotta let all that shit go."

"What if you can't?" She breathes, tears sliding down her cheeks.

"Then it kills you," I echo Beth's answer when I'd asked her the same question.

She eyes me, the pain she feels written all over her face. Somehow, she's still the most beautiful thing… before I can register what's happening, she's leaning in and her lips are on mine. There's an urgency in the kiss and I can taste the wine on her lips. I freeze. No, freezing might've been better, actually. I flinch. I flinch away from her and the look in her eyes… shit, I hurt her. I ain't even sure why I reacted like that, I just… I ain't good at this. It was just so fast, and I didn't expect it. I wasn't ready.

"I'm sorry," she breathes, mortified

"Adie-"

"Either of you seen Carol?" Rick interrupts, stalking up the aisle.

Adrienne shakes her head, sniffling and hastily wiping away her tears. I get to my feet, a bad feeling welling in my gut.

"I'll go look for her," I volunteer.

Rick nods and heads off back in the direction he'd come. Adrienne raises her watery eyes to mine, and she looks so damn ashamed I want to cry. Hold onto her and never let go ever. She curls her legs in, drawing her knees to her chest, hiding her face from me. I should kiss her. I could, I think. But maybe I already fucked that up.

"I'm gon' go find Carol," I announce, immediately realizing how redundant it is given her presence here when I'd just  _ told _ Rick I'd go look for her not two fucking seconds ago.

"Be safe," she whispers, glancing back up into my eyes.

"Mhmm," I grunt, feeling awkward and somewhat guilty.

I head outside. I have a gut feeling I know where I'm gonna find Carol and I ain't too happy about it. I work my way through the woods, back to the road where we'd found that car earlier. Sure enough, there's Carol beside the idling vehicle.

"What're you doin'?" I question.

"I don't know."

"C'mon," I tell her, motioning for her to follow me.

I know she's trying to run, but I ain't gonna let her do that. She needs us and we need her. She's about to follow when another car approaches. We duck behind the idling car as this new one blazes up the road. Holy shit. This car has a white cross on the back, it looks just like the one that took Beth. We gotta go after it and we gotta go right now before I lose her again. I take my crossbow and smash out the brake lights on our car.

"Woah, woah! What are you doing?" Carol demands. "What are you doing?!"

"They got Beth!" I snarl. "Come on! Come on, get in."

She hurls herself into the passenger side without question and we peel off into the night.

*Adrienne's POV*

Daryl's been gone a while, and I'm still thinking about that kiss. I don't know what the hell came over me, why the fuck I thought that would be okay, but I kissed him. I kissed him and he practically fucking  _ fled. _ God, what is  _ wrong _ with me? I know better than that and he  _ knows _ I know better. He's with Beth now, I can't do that shit. It would  _ crush _ Beth, for one thing. I'm not that person. I'm not. I won't be that person.

_ Promiscuous and or deviant. _

_ Adie Bee… _

-

After an hour or so, we've accepted that Daryl and Carol are both missing, and now Bob is, too. Rick, Ty, and Sasha went out to look for them. I'm desperately trying to get my bearings. Stupid. Wouldn't hurt to drink, we have walls, it's fine. Jesus. I'm a fucking idiot. Half a bottle of wine wasn't a good plan  _ before _ the apocalypse, it sure as hell isn't now. I'm pacing back and forth in the aisle between the pews. I've already tried jumping jacks, which for some reason seemed like a bright idea until I damn near knocked over several lit candles.

"Adie," Maggie snatches my hand and pulls me down to sit beside her on the pew. "They're gonna be fine. You gotta stop this. You'll just drive yourself crazy for nothin'."

She's right. I sit solemnly beside her and wait. Eventually, Sasha, Ty, and Rick come filing inside, Sasha marching straight for the priest.

"Stop," she hisses. "What're you doing?"

Gabriel stares at her in silent confusion.

"What are you doing?" She repeats. "This is all connected. You show up, we're being  _ watched, _ and now three of us are gone."

"I… I don't… I don't have anything to do with this," he stammers.

I believe him. I don't  _ like _ him. But I believe him. Sasha is less convinced, pulling her knife on him.

"Wait!" He cries.

"Sasha, put it away!" Ty orders, and she flings the knife to the floor.

"Who's out there?" Sasha demands.

"I… I don't have anything to do with this," Gabriel insists.

"Where are our people?" Sasha snarls.

"I don't have anything to do-"

"Where are our people?!" She roars.

"Please, I don't have anything to do with this," Gabriel repeats adamantly. "I-"

Rick gently urges Sasha back and steps towards the priest.

"Why'd you bring us here?" He questions.

"Look, please, I, I, I-"

"You workin' with someone?" Rick interrupts the stammering man.

"I'm alone!" Gabriel says. "I'm alone. I was always alone."

Always alone… wait a goddamn minute. Wouldn't the church be the first place the truly devout would go when the dead rose and started  _ walking? _ He's been alone this whole time. That's clear, given the state of this chapel. So where the hell's his congregation?

"What about the woman in the food bank, Gabriel?" Rick prods. "What did you do to her?  _ 'You'll burn for this?' _ That was for you, why? What're you gonna burn for, Gabriel? What?! What did you do? What'd you do?!"

At this point, Rick has the father by the collar. Gabriel starts to tremble, tears springing to his eyes.

"I lock the doors at night," he sobs. "I always lock the doors at night. I always lock the doors at night. I always… they started coming, my congregation. Atlanta was bombed the night before and they were scared. They were, they were looking for a safe place, a place where they felt safe. And it was so early, it was so early. And the doors were still locked. You see… it was my choice."

My god. He left them out there. They were scared and they needed him and he just left them out there. I remember the night Atlanta was bombed. The military, trying to take out the dead with no regard for the living among them. I remember the terror, the panic, the screams, the  _ smell… _ napalm and fire and death.

"But there were so many of them and they were trying to pry the shutters and banging on the sidings, screaming at me," Gabriel continues, barely containing his hysteria. "And so the dead came for them. Women, children. Entire families calling my name as they were torn apart, begging me for mercy. Begging me for mercy. Damning me to hell. I buried their bones. I buried it all. The Lord sent you here to finally punish me."

At this, he collapses onto the edge of his pulpit, sobbing.

"I'm damned," he laments. "I was damned before. I always lock the doors. I always lock the doors."

Shit… this man doesn't need us to punish him. He's been locked in his own personal hell since the beginning. Before anyone can say anything to the poor bastard on the floor, a low whistle cuts through the air outside. It's not Daryl's.

"There's something…" Glenn murmurs, squinting out the window. "There's someone outside lying in the grass."

With no further prompting, Sasha tears out the door and down the steps. We all follow, taking in the gruesome scene. Bob, barely conscious on the lawn, missing a leg, and the walkers, several of them, descending upon the church.

"His leg," Maggie murmurs, horror-stricken.

"Get Bob inside!" Glenn orders. "We'll take care of 'em."

Sasha and Tara carefully lift Bob and carry him into the chapel while the rest of us take down the walkers. There are too many, and it's too dark to see them clearly. Knives aren't an option. Rick and I pull our guns, firing rounds into the remaining walkers. The noise will draw more, but by the time they shamble onto our turf we'll be inside. I turn to head back into the church, but something catches my eye, freezing me in my tracks.

"Rick," I breathe.

He whips around, following my gaze to the large, crimson  _ 'A' _ that's been painted onto the outside of the church. Blood, and it's fresh, gleaming wet in the moonlight.

"Get inside!" Rick snarls.

The two of us sprint hastily back into shelter, slamming the doors shut behind us. Coming down from the shock and adrenaline, I feel stone cold sober.  _ 'A'. _ As in platform A. Terminus is here, and we've been marked. We're a target. Bob is fully awake now, in terrible pain but lucid.

"I was in the graveyard," he pants, grimacing. "Somebody knocked me out. I woke up outside this place. It looked like a school. It was that guy. Gareth. And five other ones. They were eating my leg right in front of me."

My stomach lurches. Christ almighty. We should have taken those assholes out back at Terminus, like Rick had wanted. A horrifying thought occurs to me, my eyes widening in terror. Rick glances at me, dipping his head. He's thinking the same. They could have Daryl and Carol.

"Like it was nothin'," Bob continues. "All proud like they had it all figured out."

"Did they have Daryl and Carol?" Rick questions gently.

"Gareth said they drove off," Bob replies, groaning in agony.

Drove off? Why would they just leave? Why wouldn't they tell me?  _ They didn't want you. _ The answer is loud and clear in my head. They're gone. I just got them back and they're  _ gone. _


	51. It Could've Been Us

**Chapter 51**

"He's in pain," Sasha's voice pulls me out of my self-pity. "Do we have anything?"

"I think there are pill packets in the first aid kit," Rosita says.

"I'll grab 'em," I volunteer, getting to my feet.

"Save 'em," Bob groans.

"No," Sasha protests, but something in Bob's tone stops me.

"Really," he insists.

He sits up part way, tugging down his shirt collar and exposing the large bite on his shoulder.

"It happened at the food bank," he explains, eyes on Sasha as she falls apart.

Then he passes out, pain and exhaustion winning the fight over his consciousness. 

"There's a sofa in my office," Gabriel offers. "I know it's not much, but…"

"Thank you," Sasha breathes through her tears.

Maybe it's not much, but it's a hell of a lot more comfortable than a pew or the floor. It's the most we can give him right now, given the circumstances. A comfortable place to die. I'm so fucking tired of losing people. We just got each other back, we're supposed to be  _ safe. _ Ty and Sasha lift Bob and carry him to the back room, Maggie trailing after them to assist in getting our dying friend situated. Rick and I glance at each other. We've become quite good at silent communication.

_ We have to go after them. Now. _

_ I know. _

_ They're coming here, Rick. _

_ I  _ know _. _

"Do you know the place Bob was talkin' about?" Rick asks Gabriel.

"It's an elementary school," he supplies. "It's close."

"How close?" Rick questions, the priest clamming up when he realizes our intentions.

"Damn it, Gabriel, how close is it?" I snap, glaring. "We're gonna go with or without your help, so you may as well make the trip easier before more people die on  _ your _ watch."

I know it's cruel. But he needs to cooperate.

"It's just a 10 minute walk through the woods from here, due south of the graveyard," Gabriel relents.

Judith begins to cry, and Carl takes her to the back room to get her settled. Maggie emerges from Gabriel's office, joining the rest of us near the pulpit.

"Does he have a fever?" Rick questions.

"He's just warm," she says solemnly.

"Jim lasted almost two days before we left him," Glenn points out.

"Left him?" Tara asks, stricken.

"It was his choice," I sigh. "He asked us to. We were on our way to the CDC. He couldn't… couldn't do it anymore."

"Time for a reality check," Abraham announces, striding up the aisle. "We all need to leave for DC. Right now."

"Daryl and Carol are gonna be back," Rick protests. "We're not goin' anywhere without 'em."

"I respect that, but there's a clear threat here to Eugene, I need to extract his ass before things get any uglier," Abraham counters. "So if y'all won't come, good luck to you. We'll go our separate ways."

"Jesus Christ," I snap. "You leave right now, in the  _ dark, _ hardly any ammo, you may as well put a bullet in Precious yourself."

Abraham disregards this completely, wheeling around and heading for the door.

"You leavin' on foot?" Rick asks incredulously.

"We fixed that damn bus ourselves," Abraham informs him, turning as Rick closes the distance between the two men.

"There are a lot more of us," Rick points out.

"You wanna keep it that way?" Abraham fires back. "You should come."

"Carol saved your life,  _ we  _ saved your life," Rick snarls.

"Well, I am tryin' to save yours!" Abraham roars. "Save everyone's!"

"We're not goin' anywhere without our people," Rick says firmly.

"Your people took off!"

"They're comin' back!"

"To what, picked over bones?!"

"You're not takin'-" Rick starts, reaching for Abraham.

"Do not lay hands!" Abraham howls furiously, shoving Rick away.

"Abraham!" Rosita scolds.

"Hey! Hey, hey, hey, stop! Now!" Glenn orders, wedging himself between the two enraged men. "Do you really think that you're gonna be any safer leaving right now, in the middle of the night?"

"Yeah," Abraham says breathlessly, once again turning to leave. "Yeah."

"What about tomorrow?" Glenn demands. "We need each other for this. We need each other to get to DC! We can get through all of it together."

"I have an idea," Tara pipes up. "If you stay just one more day and help, I'll, I'll go with you to DC no matter what. Okay?"

Abraham considers this, his eyes darting between me, Glenn, and Maggie.

"Adrienne, too," Abraham bargains. "Or Glenn and Maggie."

I'm too anxious to derive any pleasure from Abraham's allusion that I'm as good as two people. What if Daryl comes back? And Carol? What if they didn't just leave? They wouldn't've left without a reason, right? I remain silent. I won't leave until I know. I won't leave without Carol and Daryl.

"No," Rick says, point blank.

"Good luck, then," Abraham says. "I'm not interested in breakin' up what you have here. Rosita, grab your gear."

"Abraham-" Rosita begins.

"Now!" Abraham orders. "Eugene, let's go. Eugene! Move it."

"I, I don't want to," Eugene blurts, shocking the hell out of everyone in the room.

"Now," Abraham growls.

"Okay," Eugene agrees, any ounce of courage he'd just displayed completely out the window.

"You're not takin' the bus," Rick states calmly.

"Try to stop me," Abraham argues.

Rick starts for him, every intention of stopping the man. Glenn hurls himself between them once more.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait!" He hollers, turning to Abraham. "You stay. You stay and help us… and we will go with you."

"No," Rick says immediately.

"It's not your call," Glenn points out, turning back to Abraham. "You stay. Help us."

"Half a day," Abraham concedes. "Come high noon, we're taillights. I'm not waitin' for the other damn shoe to drop."

"And we  _ will _ leave with you," Maggie assures him.

"12 hours," Abraham nods. "Then we go."

At that, we all sit down to plan. After some deliberation, we've come to the decision to draw them out. They'll expect us to go straight for the school. No. Our plan is simple. Most of the group leaves, heads in the direction of the school. Make it look like we're coming after them. Give the sorry sons of bitches time to sneak their way into the church, then circle back and ambush them.

"They think they're in control," Rick says heavily. "We're in here and they could be anywhere. But we know exactly where they are."

"Plan's got stones, I'll give you that," Abe admits.

"Make our move before they do," Glenn sighs.

"That's right," Rick confirms. "They're not countin' on us thinkin' straight."

"Are we?" Rosita demands. "I'm just making sure. It's a  _ big  _ play."

"Remember what these people are capable of," Rick hisses, his lip curling in disgust.

"It  _ is _ a big play," I nod. "But it's the  _ only _ play. They delivered Bob to us knowin' damn well he'd tell us where they took 'im. It's not about what they're capable of, it's about what they know  _ we're _ capable of. They know if we come for them, they're as good as dead already. They're tryin' to  _ outsmart _ us because… because they know they can't  _ fight _ us."

No one argues with that. Tyreese has been silent a while, though, and I know this isn't sitting well with him.

"Tyreese," Rick murmurs.

"Yeah?" Ty questions, staring at the floor.

"You up for this?" Rick asks gently.

"I'm going with you," Sasha announces, emerging from the office before Ty can answer.

"You should stay with Bob," Ty says, stricken. 

"No," Sasha insists. "I wanna be out there. I wanna be a part of this."

She wheels around and disappears back inside the office where Bob lay dying, her brother on her heels.

"Adie," Rick murmurs, pulling me aside and casting a wary glance Eugene's way. "I need you to stay, run point here."

"What?" I demand. "Why?"

"I need to know someone's back here to keep Carl and Judith  _ safe, _ " he whispers emphatically. "Just in case. Rosita takes her orders from Abraham. Eugene is her priority. Tyreese…" he trails off, pinching the bridge of his nose. "He's not up for this. He's not. I need you here."

He  _ trusts _ me. He knows if something goes wrong, I'll get his kids out of here before I worry about anyone else. I nod, tears welling in my eyes.

I won't let him down.

And so it's decided. Rick, Michonne, Abraham, Maggie, Glenn, Sasha, and Tara are leaving, heading in the direction of the school. They're team two. I'm in charge of team one. Those of us staying behind. The front line. This plan banks on our theory that Terminus are hiding right outside, just waiting for their moment. We're gonna give it to 'em. And if we're wrong… I have my orders. Keep Carl and Judith safe, at any cost.

Not five minutes after Rick heads off into the night with team two, the wooden porch steps creak and someone outside breaks the lock off the church door. I fucking knew it. We're all stuffed into Gabriel's office. Me, Carl, the priest, Rosita, Eugene, Bob, Ty, and the baby. If there's some kind of higher power, any religion, anything out there at all, I'm praying to it with all my heart to keep Judith quiet. I glance at her, staring into her big, brown eyes, willing her to just miraculously fall asleep.

"Well, I guess you know we're here," Gareth's voice echoes eerily through the chapel. "And  _ we _ know...  _ you're _ here. And we're armed. So there's really no point in hiding anymore. We've been watching you. We know who's here."

I swear to god, if Eugene gives away our position, I will rip his nutsack  _ off _ and feed it to him. I glance at Carl, the two of us armed and ready if the door flies open. His eyes meet mine and he nods. He's ready. We'll do whatever it takes to keep our own safe, and I'll make damn sure he and Judith get the hell outta here if it comes down to it. I never thought I'd trust a 14 year old boy with my life, but I do.

"There's Bob, unless you've put him out of his misery already," Gareth continues, voice closer and closer all the time. "And Eugene. Rosita. Martin's good friend, Tyreese. There's Adrienne, our...  _ fiery _ little assassin. Carl. Judith. Rick and the rest walked out with  _ a lot _ of your guns. Listen, we don't know where you all are, but this isn't a big place. So let's just stop this now before things get more painful than they need to be."

They've reached the office, one of them violently jiggling the knob. It's locked from the inside, so as long as we stay quiet, we're safe. Gareth's not gonna want to waste ammo without reason.

"Look, you're behind one of these two doors and we have more than enough firepower to take down both," Gareth threatens. "Can't imagine that's what you all want. How 'bout the priest? Father, you help us wrap this up, we'll let you walk away from this."

I stare at Gabriel, crouching on the floor with his rosary. His fearful eyes meet mine and I know I've made myself clear. They might let him walk away.  _ Might. _ I sure as hell won't.

"Just open the door and you can go," Gareth offers. "You can take the baby with you. What do you say?"

I swell with pride, none of my group cracking. We're not gonna fold. The plan  _ will _ work. Even Eugene's not falling into the trap. Then the worst happens. Judith's cries pierce the air. Carl's eyes meet mine, startled. I jerk my head towards the baby, and he silently makes his way towards her, comforting her while I remain at the door. Come on, Rick, where are you?

"It's your last chance to tell us you're coming out," Gareth says, now right outside our door with at least two armed men.

"Are we done?" A voice I don't recognize hisses.

"We'll hit the hinges," Gareth sighs.

Then a couple bodies thud, blood splattering the wall outside the door, relief coursing through my veins at the sound. They're here.

"Put your guns on the floor," Rick's voice floats through the chapel.

"Rick, we'll fire right into that office. So you lower your gun-"

Suddenly, there's the sound of a third bullet tearing through flesh. Gareth, I'm assuming, hits the floor, screaming.

"Put your guns on the floor and  _ kneel, _ " Rick orders.

"Do what he says!" Gareth commands, whimpering. "Martin, there's no choice here."

"Yeah, there is," Martin, the voice I hadn't recognized earlier, argues.

"Wanna bet?" Abraham counters.

Martin. Tyreese told us he was dead. That he'd been in that little cabin with him and Judith, that he'd gotten his hands around the baby's neck and he had killed him. He had to. But he didn't.

"No point in begging, right?" Gareth speaks again, panting in pain.

I wonder idly where he'd been hit, to be in so much pain and still able to speak. I'd guess his hand or maybe his foot.

"No," Rick confirms.

"Still, you could've killed us when you came in," Gareth points out. "There had to be a reason for that."

"We didn't wanna waste the bullets," Rick informs him.

"We used to  _ help  _ people," Gareth hisses. "We  _ saved  _ people. Things changed. They came in and…" he trails off, choking back a sob. "After that… I know you've been out there, but I can see it. You don't know what it is to be  _ hungry. _ You don't have to do this. We can walk away. And we will  _ never _ cross paths again, I _ promise  _ you."

"But you'll cross someone's path," Rick counters, unmoved. "You'd do this to anyone, right? Besides… I already made you a promise."

Then, quite abruptly, chaos erupts. I crack the door, slipping out of the room just in time to see Rick pull his red handled machete from Gareth's body. All six of the cannibals lay dead on the floor. We're safe. For the time being.

"It could've been us," Rick says, breathless and covered in blood.

"Yeah," Sasha sighs, gazing in wide eyed horror at what we'd just done.

The violence… it's changing us. This desperation, the drive to stay alive, keep our people alive, it's pushing us to do things we never thought we'd do. I know I should feel guilty, feel some sense of loss, but I don't. I can't. Something catches my eye and I crouch down, examining the body nearest me. My Glock is sticking out of his waistband. My buck knife is hanging from his belt. These people took our weapons, took our  _ freedom. _ They would have taken our lives, too. It could've been us.

"This is the Lord's house," Gabriel breathes, horrified, emerging from behind me and staring at the carnage around him.

"No," Maggie says flatly. "It's just four walls and a roof."

Morning breaks, and with it comes more death.

"Adie," Bob rasps, clutching weakly at my hand. "You tell… you tell Daryl thank you for me. He took me in. Gave me a second chance. I'm grateful. I ain't alone."

"I'll tell him," I whisper, tears streaming down my cheeks as I press a kiss to his clammy, burning cheek. "I promise I will."

There's nothing left to say. I leave the room, giving Bob and Sasha their last bit time together. Less than two hours later, Sasha's anguished cries break the silence and we know… he's gone. Tyreese sprints into the office, sending Sasha out of the room so he can make sure Bob won't turn. Put a knife in his brain so he can stay dead. Once we're gone, that's all we have left. The knowledge that our people won't let us turn, won't let us come back a monster. Abraham stays long enough to attend Bob's burial, but once our friend is in the ground, it's time to leave.

"This is our route to DC," he announces, handing Rick a map. "We'll stick to it as long as we're able. If not, well, you got our destination. Once Eugene gets to the big brains left up there, things are gonna bounce back. This group should be there for it."

Pretty words. Another fucking pipe dream, just like the CDC. The farm. The prison. Terminus. I eye Glenn from my perch on the church steps. He meets my gaze. I'm angry with him. With him and Maggie both. When the hell has splitting up  _ ever _ worked for us? What if we never see each other again? Abraham's mission is bullshit, something he's desperately holding onto because he doesn't want to believe in our not so new reality having any kind of permanence.

"Let's go!" Abraham orders.

"Wait!" I blurt, sprinting towards Maggie. "Wait."

I stop in front of her, words escaping me in the moment. I look into her eyes. She's crying too and nothing needs to be said. I wrap my arms around her, sobbing and holding her tight.

"Be safe," I whisper, kissing her cheek.

"We will," she assures me, ducking into the bus as I turn to Glenn.

He looks at me and his face crumbles. After everything we've been through together, a simple goodbye doesn't cut it. In this world, there is no see you later. One minute, the people who mean everything to you are here and the next they're gone. If you're lucky, you get to bury them. Glenn pulls me tight against his chest, kissing the top of my head as we cling to each other. It can't last, though. I pull away from him, feeling like a piece of my soul is getting on that bus and driving away.

I collapse onto the stairs, watching them disappear into the distance. I don't know how long I'm sitting there, but it's dark by the time Michonne takes a seat beside me, staring silently at her katana. One of the Terminus scumbags had been carrying it. Probably used it to hack off Bob's leg, now I think about it.

"What are you doin' out here?" She questions eventually.

"Keepin' watch," I murmur. "Everyone else sleepin'?" 

"Yeah," she nods. "Except for-"

"I can't sleep," Gabriel announces, materializing behind me.

Michonne and I exchange a knowing look.

"Join the club," I quip wearily, scooting closer to Michonne to make room for the priest.

"And now, sitting in there? Quiet," he muses, sinking down beside me. "It isn't just what happened last night. Saying what happened before… out loud. I see it all again. I hear them."

"Yeah," Michonne says softly. "That won't stop. But it won't be all the time."

Before the priest can respond, there's a rustling in the trees. Michonne glances at me, eyebrows furrowing. I nod, and together we rise, drawing our weapons while Gabriel hauls ass back inside. Michonne and I approach the woods warily, scanning the trees for any sign of movement. Then a certain crossbow wielding man steps out of the forest into the moonlight.

"Daryl," I breathe, relief washing over me.

I sprint forward, practically hurling myself into him. His arms wrap around me and, for about a fraction of a second, everything is okay. Then I see his face. Carol's not with him. His arms stay around me, and I draw a small amount of comfort from that before remembering Beth. I slip out of his arms and take a step back, guilt welling in the pit of my stomach. I can't keep throwing myself at him like this. Literally.

"Where's Carol?" Michonne questions.

"C'mon out," Daryl says over his shoulder, a second figure emerging from the trees.

"Who the hell're you?" I blurt.

*Daryl's POV*

**24 hours ago**

"So it was just you and Beth after?" Carol asks softly, the two of us speeding down the road, tailing the car with the cross.

"Yeah."

"You save her?"

"She's tough," I tell her. "She saved herself. We were out there for a while. We got cornered, she got out in front of me 'n… I don't know, she was gone. I came out and a car's pullin' out with a white cross on the window."

"Just like that one."

"Yep," I nod. "Rick's gonna wonder where we are." 

"No, Rick's gonna be keepin' Adie from tearing off into the woods trying to find  _ you, _ " she sighs.

"Tank's runnin' low," I observe, ignoring her blatant attempt to get me to talk about Adrienne.

"We can end this quick," she points out. "Just run him off the road."

"Nah, we're good for a bit," I tell her, more concerned with getting wherever this guy's headed without detection.

"If they're holding her somewhere, we can get it out of the driver."

"Yeah, but if he don't talk, we're back to square one," I point out. "Right now we got the advantage. We'll see who they are. If they're a group, see what they can do. And then we'll do what we gotta do to get her back."

"They're heading north, I-85."

Atlanta. We follow the car into the city, where it finally slows to a stop. I pull over several yards from their bumper, Carol and I squinting into the shadows to see what this guy's up to. But he don't get out of the car.

"What the hell's he waitin' for?" I demand, frustrated.

The car shuts off, and I kill the engine quickly before we can be heard by the uniformed man climbing out of the passenger seat.

"There's two of 'em," I observe. "Is that a cop?"

"Might've seen us," Carol whispers, pulling her gun from its holster.

We watch as the maybe cop disappears behind a building, the driver staying put. It's eerily silent. What was once one of the busiest cities in the entire damn country, now a crumbling ruin. Yeah, it's quiet as can be. Until a walker slams itself into our car. It begins to pound against the glass, snarling loudly. Damn it. The cop comes back into view, head turned towards where we sit in the shadows. He might not see us, but there's no way in hell he can't hear this thing pounding away on our window. We catch a break, this guy opting to get back in his car instead of seeking out the source of the noise.

I turn the keys in the ignition, but our luck has run out. The engine sputters, refusing to start.

"Aw, shit!" I curse. "Tank's tapped. They'd've taken the bypass and they didn't, they must be holed up in the city somewhere."

The eerie silence is gone. Snarling walkers are shambling towards us, drawn by their friend's incessant thumping against our car.

"We gotta move, find someplace to hole up til sunlight," I sigh.

"I know a place," Carol murmurs, craning her neck and squinting at the street sign up the road. "Just a couple of blocks from here, we can make it."

I follow her lead, the two of us abandoning the car and pounding pavement until we reach a large, redbrick building, ducking inside while the restless growls of the dead echo around the skeleton city.

"You used to work here or somethin'?" I question, glancing around what appears to have been some kind of office.

"Somethin'," she says softly.

She leads me through the building, down a hallway and into a… bedroom? Some kind of weird apartment?

"What's this place?" I ask, feeling a little stupid for not knowing.

"It's temporary housing."

Shining my flashlight around the room, I'm drawn to a book sitting on a nightstand next to a bunk bed. Treating Survivors of Childhood Abuse: Psychotherapy for the Interrupted Life. Temporary housing. So this is a women's shelter. My Aunt Deb tried to get my mom to take me and Merle to one of these. That was before mom stopped taking Aunt Deb's calls. Then mom died and I ain't never heard nothin' from Aunt Deb after that. I wonder if Adie and her mother ever stayed at a place like this, or if she ever read a book like this one. The interrupted life… sounds about right. Feels like I'm always a few steps behind where I should be.

"You came here?"

"We didn't stay," Carol says bitterly as I set down my crossbow, still eyeing the book. "I'll take the top bunk. I think that one's more your style."

I glance at the bunk, taking in the thin, pink blanket covering the mattress with a chuckle. My style? A bed's a bed.

"You should sleep," she continues. "I'll take first watch."

"This is locked up pretty tight," I protest.

"I know," she agrees, crossing to the window.

"Then… we're good, then," I add, not sure she's picking up what I'm trying to say.

"I'll keep first watch," she insists, eyeing me pointedly. "I don't mind."

"Suit yourself," I concede, taking a seat on the edge of the bottom bunk.

"You said we get to start over," she says abruptly, watching me.

"Yeah."

"You think Adie did?" She questions. "Did you?"

"I'm tryin'."

Did Adie? I don't know. I know she's part of why I'm trying, though. I think she's trying, too. Thinking about her, I swear I can still taste wine on my lips. I never liked wine before, but I liked it a lot on her mouth. Damn it, I should've fucking kissed her while I had the chance. She's gonna be worried. Alone with that prick, Eugene. I feel nauseous at the thought, pushing it away. Adie can take care of herself and I guess she ain't alone, not really. Rick's there, and Glenn. She'll be fine.

Carol's quiet, but I know she's got something to talk about. A reason she can't sleep.

"Why don't you say what's really on your mind?" I suggest.

"I don't think we get to save people anymore," she says flatly.

"Then why are you here?"

"I'm tryin'," she sighs, crossing the room and flopping onto her back next to me.

"When we were out by the car… what if I didn't show up?" I question.

"I still don't know," she admits softly.

I lay down beside her, contemplating how the hell to respond to that. Before I can say anything, there's a thudding noise from down the hall. We're immediately up and armed, working our way down the dark hallway, nearly reaching the end before locating the source of the noise. Two walkers, locked inside one of the other rooms. Their silhouettes are visible through the frosted glass door, one much smaller than the other, and we realize we're seeing the rotted shells of a mother and her child. Carol moves to open the door, intent on putting the pair out of their misery.

"You don't have to," I tell her, but she reaches for the doorknob anyway. "You don't."

She hesitates, but we walk away, leaving the walkers behind the glass. Despite the noises, Carol manages to sleep. I can't, though. I can't leave them in that room. I just couldn't let Carol do it. The sky is getting gradually lighter and I still ain't been able to rest. With a sigh, I grab my crossbow and head back down the hallway. It ain't easy. They used to be somebody. That kid couldn't've been no more than six or seven years old.

They deserve a proper death. Relief from their in-between state, their eternal limbo stuck somewhere between alive and dead. I dispatch them quickly, burning the bodies on the roof. I don't know if I believe in God or an afterlife, but wherever the hell it is we go when we die, maybe these two can finally make it there. Carol steps outside right as I'm placing the mother's body into the flames.

"Thank you," she says fervently.

I just nod. Thanks ain't necessary. We head back to the room we'd spent the night in, grabbing our shit so we can figure out where the hell that car had gone.

"That car was headed downtown," I tell Carol, slinging my bag over my shoulder. "I say we get up in one of the tall ones, get ourselves a view, see what we see."

"We can stay close to the buildings and keep quiet, but sooner or later we're gonna be drawin' 'em," she points out.

We head outside, staying close to the walls, keeping as quiet as we can. Peering around the corner of the parking garage we're hiding beside, I can see a bridge connecting the garage to the tall building on the other side of it. A vantage point. There are at least two dozen walkers between us and the bridge, but I think I got an idea.

"All right, we can get up there," I tell Carol softly. "There's a bridge."

I pull a notepad I'd taken from the women's shelter from my backpack and light it on fire, tossing it into the gutter on the far side of the street. The walkers are drawn to the flames and we're able to sprint into the parking garage, stopping only to take out the walker lurking just around the corner. We make it to the bridge without further incident. It's littered with walkers, some in sleeping bags and others in tents. All unable to move, zippers confining them to their places. How did these people die? Mass suicide? Surely they didn't all just lay down here and let themselves starve to death. 

"Some days, I don't know what the hell to think," I gripe, eyeing the tents after Carol and I take out the walkers in the sleeping bags.

They ain't goin' nowhere, so we continue to the other side of the bridge. Carol pulls open the door and we discover it's been chained shut from the inside, leaving a very small space we can maybe squeeze through. Carol goes first, slipping through with ease. I hand her my crossbow, worming my way through with somewhat more effort. I might miss her, but I'm grateful Adie ain't here to laugh at my clumsy struggle.

"Good thing we skipped breakfast," I joke grimly, as if it had been a choice.

We find ourselves in some sort of office. Maybe a law firm, if the overpriced leather furniture and ridiculous abstract "art" hanging on the walls are any indication. One painting in particular features what looks like someone's fucked up eyeball. I hate it. Jesus, people paid  _ money _ for this horseshit?

"How did we get here?" Carol asks solemnly, gazing out the window at the ruined city below.

I never much cared for downtown Atlanta even before, but the way it looks now… streets filled with trash and bones, melted bodies, soot stained buildings, overturned cars. Merle and me were miles away the night they bombed the city, but Adie… she was minutes from becoming ashes. Just another stain on the asphalt. She don't like to talk about it, only ever heard her tell the story once. She climbed out a window and down a fire escape, was still in the city when them pricks started dropping napalm in the streets. I wonder which building was her  _ 'shithole apartment',  _ if it's one of the ones we can see from here.

"I dunno," I mumble. "We jus' did."

"You still haven't asked me what happened," she murmurs. "After I met up with Tyreese, the girls…"

"Yeah, I know what happened," I tell her, having assumed Lizzie and Mica had been taken by the dead. "They ain't here."

"It was worse than that," she says, pain flashing behind her eyes.

"The reason I said we get to start over…" I begin, eyeing her. "Is 'cause we gotta. Fuck the way it was."

Things ain't gonna be like that again. They just ain't. Abraham's so sure about this reset button bullshit, getting Eugene's pussy ass to DC… there ain't a reset. Even if Eugene  _ does _ know how to fix the disease, there's no going back. I don't know if we can even make things like they were at the prison again. I think all we got left now is just to fight. Survive.

"Yeah," she nods as I lean forward, peering out the window. "You see somethin'?"

"I don't know," I mutter. "Hand me that rifle."

I point the gun in the direction of a van I spotted on the highway, squinting through the scope. I was right. There's white crosses on the back of the van. Just like the car we'd followed here, just like the car that took Beth.

"Right there," I hand her the rifle, tapping the window.

"It's been there a while," she observes. "Definitely one of 'em."

"It's definitely some kinda lead," I agree.

"We should fill up," she suggests, nodding at a cooler against one wall, still filled with water.

Stagnant, no doubt, but better than nothing.

"All right," I assent, eyes wandering to a truly atrocious painting on the wall beside the window. "Hmm…"

"What?" She questions, turning back towards me, handing me the canteen she's just filled.

"I bet this cost some rich prick a lotta money," I observe, pointing. "Looks like a dog sat in paint, wiped its ass all over the place."

"Really?" She asks. "I kinda like it.

"Stop," I scoff, not missing the teasing gleam in her eyes.

"I'm serious," she says breezily, bending to grab her pack. "You don't know me."

I do know her, though. That's another thing. You can't hide nothin' from people no more. Having everything stripped away like this, who you really are just bleeds through. This world makes the good ones better and the bad ones worse and the people you're around have everything to do with who you are now. If Merle and me never stopped at the quarry camp, if we went for the coast… maybe I'd've ended up with the bad ones.

"Yup, you keep tellin' yourself that," I counter as she chuckles to herself.

We head back to the bridge, Carol squeezing through the small gap for the second time. I move to follow her, not quite through when she speaks.

"Daryl, don't," she warns too late, some skinny black kid now holding her rifle, pointing it straight at me.

"Get up," he orders, and I come through the doors to stand beside Carol. "Hands up, both of you. Lay down your crossbow."

"You got some sack on you," I remark, eyeing my weapon.

"Look, nobody has to get hurt, I just need weapons, that's it," the kid says frantically. "So please, lay down your crossbow."

I don't want to. But this punk ain't giving me much choice. Doubt he can aim that thing, but all he has to do is pull the trigger and one of us gets hurt. Even if he misses, every walker in the whole damn building will come for us and we ain't got the manpower  _ or _ the ammo to take down more than a few at a time. Scowling, I lay my crossbow at my feet.

"Back up!" The kid barks.

Carol and I take a couple steps back and the kid lurches forward, rifle still on me as he snatches up my crossbow.

"Sorry about this," he says.

Nah. He ain't. But he's gonna be.

"You two look tough," he continues, trying to ease his own conscience. "You'll be alright."

Then he pulls a knife from his jacket, slicing open the walker filled tents on his way down the bridge. This fucking gutless punk. I pull my knife and take out one walker, Carol drawing her handgun and shooting down the other. She aims for the kid next, but I smack her gun away just as she fires, forcing her to miss her shot. The two of us take off down the bridge, towards the door the kid just disappeared through. But he's chained it shut. We're gonna have to get out some other way.


	52. I Took a Class

**Chapter 52**

"Three bullets," Carol snaps, pissed about the precious little ammo we've got left as we walk through an upper level of the building that appears to be eternally under construction. "We're in the middle of a city. He was stealing our weapons. Did you think I was gonna kill him?"

I just eye her. That's exactly what she was gonna do. And I ain't gonna let her keep doin' shit that tears her apart inside.

"I was aiming for his leg!" She insists. "Could that've killed him? Maybe, I don't know. But he was  _ stealing our weapons. _ "

"He's just a damn kid," I huff, pulling out my knife and attempting to pick the lock on the door we've just come across.

"Without weapons, we could die," she protests. "Beth could die. Would you have stopped  _ Adrienne? _ She'd have sh-"

"We'll find more weapons."

This ain't about Adrienne. She ain't here, that argument ain't relevant, even if it is true. She'd have shot him, and not in the leg. She don't take chances. But she don't feel guilty about it and try to run away in the night, neither.

"I don't want you to die," Carol continues. "I don't want Beth to die. I don't want anybody at the church to die, but I can't stand around and watch it happen either. I can't! That's why I left. I just had to be somewhere else."

"Well you ain't somewhere else!" I snap, glaring at her. "You're right here. Tryin'!"

"Look, you're not who you were and neither am I," she says quietly as I turn my attention back to the stubborn lock, finally managing to crack the damn door open. "Do you remember by the stream, what Adie said? About God? I used to believe, I did. But now? I don't know if I believe in God anymore, or heaven, but if I'm goin' to hell, I'm makin' damn sure I'm holding it off as long as I can."

She snatches up my pack with enough force that it flies open, the psychology book I'd taken from the shelter when she wasn't looking clattering to the floor along with a few other items. I pick it up, stupidly thinking if I can retrieve it, she might forget about it. But fuck it. She's seen it. I figure she suspects I didn't exactly grow up in a happy home, but this still feels invasive. If she ain't gonna try, I guess I won't either. I leave the book in her hand, storming through the open door without another word.

We walk silently until we reach the wrecked bus. It's stuck, wedged in the barricade, the front end hanging off the side of the highway, its back wheels in the air. Where the hell's the driver? I pull the back doors open, revealing the empty interior of the vehicle.

"All right, let's get this done," I mutter, moving to climb into the back of the van.

"It's not stable," Carol points out. "I'm lighter."

Like I give a shit. She ain't gettin' in this thing. I climb inside, ignoring her. It ain't stable. But it stays in place, only teetering a bit when Carol climbs in, despite my wishes, and I heave myself into the driver's seat. We start rifling through the papers clipped to the visors, searching for anything that might shed some light on who this vehicle belonged to.

"There's more coming," Carol announces, nervously glancing out the window at the walkers now approaching from both sides of the street. "We're gonna have to fight through."

"Yeah, I see 'em," I sigh.

I move from the seat into the back of the van, spotting a gurney on the floor. I flip it over, reading the inscription on the tag dangling from the rails.

"We have to go," Carol urges.

"GMH, what's that?" I question. "A hospital?"

"I don't know," she replies, climbing past me. "Grady Memorial, maybe?"

"Grady, the white crosses, it might be where they're holin' up!"

We hop out, finding ourselves in the middle of at least a couple dozen snarling walkers. Fighting is hopeless, especially without our other weapons. We have no choice but to leap back into the van. The walkers glom onto the vehicle, clawing frantically at the doors and windows.

"Anything we can use?" Carol cries.

"Nothin' but what we got," I tell her.

We're gonna have to let 'em push this thing off the road. Christ. It's a gamble, but not as big a gamble as taking our chances with the growing group of bloodthirsty dead.

"All right, buckle up," I instruct, the two of us hurling ourselves into the front seats and fastening our seatbelts.

Carol starts to hyperventilate, the only thing she's truly scared of staring us right in the face. She grabs my hand, holding it tight.

"You hold on," I tell her, looking into her eyes.

I lurch forward, and that combined with the force of the walkers propels us over the edge. I close my eyes, focusing on the image of Adrienne I'm so easily able to summon into my brain. She's laughing, head thrown back, the sun turning those crimson waves into a fiery halo around her face. If this is it, if I'm gonna die, she's the last thing I wanna see.

The van crashes to the ground with a jarring thud. The airbag deploys and, miraculously, neither of us is hurt too badly.

"We're okay," Carol murmurs breathlessly. "We're okay."

The relief is short lived. A body crashes onto the cracked windshield. It scares the shit out of both of us, but only the first time. More walkers follow, driven by mindless instinct to their own demise. Once the corpses stop raining, we exit the van, sore as shit, but otherwise just fine. We make our way back into the city, taking temporary shelter in a small, fenced in alleyway between two buildings.

"Here," I offer the canteen to Carol.

"I'm fine," she says flatly.

"Prove it," I insist, and she takes the water.

I think the stunt in the van gave her whiplash. The airbag cushioned the blow for me, but didn't deploy on her side. She's gotta be in pain.

"How bad is it?" I question.

"Had worse," she quips, but she's already badly bruised from the seatbelt.

"Damn, that was stupid," I huff.

"We made good time down," she counters. "There's only two blocks between us and Grady."

"We needa find a place nearby, scope it out, see what we can see," I tell her, nodding.

"You really think we're gonna find out what we need to know just by watching?" She questions dubiously.

"It's where we start," I point out. "Come on."

-

We end up in a high-rise across the way from Grady Memorial, offering a perfect view of the face of the hospital.

"It's them," Carol says, eyeing Grady through the window.

"All right," I say, following her gaze. "Let's see what we see."

So we wait. We watch. We snarf down a few individual sized packets of stale chips we'd found lying in a bag on the floor.

"You said I ain't like how I was before?" I muse, crumpling my empty chip bag and tossing it aside.

"Yeah."

"How was I?"

"It's like you were a kid," she mutters, glancing at me briefly before turning her gaze back to the hospital. "Now you're a man."

A kid… a few steps behind where I was supposed to be. She's right. I feel different than before, like the ground I'm standing on is a little more solid. That's fucked up. The world is a goddamn shitshow, worse than it was, and I'm better for it.

"What about you?"

"Me and Sophia stayed at that shelter for a day and a half before I went running back to Ed," she says softly after a moment. "I went home, I got beat up, life went on, and I just kept prayin' for something to happen. But I didn't  _ do _ anything. Not a damn thing. I... sometimes I wonder what Adie sees when she looks at me. Her mom did what moms are  _ supposed _ to do, took her away from…"

She trails off, shaking her head. I know what Adie sees when she looks at her. It's the same thing I see. Someone who got better  _ after _ the world went to hell. Same as me, same as Adie. Makes me feel less like a freak, not being the only one.

"That ain't who you are," I point out.

"Who I was with him… she got burned away," she continues. "And I was happy about that. I mean, not happy but… and at the prison, I got to be who I always thought I should be, thought I should've been. And then she got burned away. Everything now just… consumes you."

Consumes you… maybe. But we ain't gone yet. We ain't dead. We still get to  _ be, _ we still get to live.

"Well, hey," I catch her eyes and hold them. "We ain't ashes."

Before she can say anything else, a door slams somewhere in the building. We ain't alone. We grab our shit and head off in the direction of the noise. There's a thudding, and as we get closer we can hear the snarling walker. We round a corner and spot the poor bastard, pinned to the wall by an arrow through the neck. Hold up…

"Is that yours?" Carol asks.

"Yeah," I confirm, chopping the walker in the head with the machete I'd got off another walker on our way into this place and pulling the arrow from its flesh.

Gunfire erupts from just around the corner and Carol and I take off after it, stumbling across the jackass who took our weapons. He's got himself cornered, but shoves the walker at Carol as soon as he sees us. I take the walker out, rushing to help her back up.

"I'm good," she insists, waving me away. "I'm good. You go."

I tear off down the hallway and into an office of some kind. The kid is trying to move a large bookshelf out of a doorway, but he ain't having much luck. I drop my shit and hurl myself at his back. I take him down, managing to get to my feet just before the bookshelf topples over, pinning the boy to the floor. There's a walker behind the door the shelf had been holding shut. The door's still mostly shut, but that walker's gonna get through eventually. I don't care. He left us with walkers, he can either take this one out or die. I snatch up my crossbow and Carol's rifle.

"Please! Please, I had to protect myself!" The kid cries.

"Why you followin' us?" I demand.

"I, I didn't, I swear!" He insists. "I thought you followed me!"

"Bullshit," I growl, handing Carol her gun.

I'm ready to leave until I spot a carton of cigarettes on the floor. Shit's hard to come by these days. I pluck them up from the floor, taking the last remaining pack and tossing the carton aside while the kid begs.

"Please. Please!" He cries, struggling to lift the shelf off his body.

"Nah, I already helped you once," I tell him, sticking a cigarette between my lips and lighting up. "Ain't happenin' again. Have fun with hoss over there."

I grab my shit and stalk past Carol while the kid cries desperately, assuming she'll follow.

"Daryl," she says, not moving. "Daryl, stop."

"You almost died 'cause of him!" I snarl incredulously.

"But I didn't!"

"Nah," I insist. "Let 'im be."

"Daryl!" She cries, but I ain't listening, already more than halfway down the hallway.

_ You really gonna let him die like that? Why don't you just shoot him? _

Fuck. Adie's voice in my head. Jesus, that's annoying. Wish she'd stop that shit. I don't give a fuck about this kid, but I can't leave him to get torn apart. I wheel around, shooting a bolt through the walker just before it can tear into the kid's neck. I lift the shelf and Carol helps the kid scramble out from beneath it.

"Thank you!" He cries breathlessly. "Thank you, thank you."

"You okay?" I ask Carol as the kid limps over to the window.

"I'm still here," she assures me.

"I gotta go," the kid murmurs. "I gotta go. They're gonna come. They probably heard the shot. If they find me…"

"Who?" I demand.

"Them!" He says frantically. "People at the hospital."

"Wait, wait, wait, just tell us!" I stop him. "Is there a blonde girl there? You see a blonde girl?"

"Beth?" The boy questions. "You know her? She helped me get out, but she's still there."

"They're coming," Carol says softly, eyeing a car that just pulled up outside our building. White cross.

"We gotta go now, we gotta go!" The kid says urgently. "We gotta go!"

We haul ass down the stairs, not sure where to go from here.

"The building next door has a basement!" The kid informs us, limping down the hallway. "We'll be safe!"

But he's injured and falls to the ground, unable to keep running.

"Go, I got 'im!" I insist, Carol running ahead. "Come on, get up! Get up!"

I get him to his feet and we tear towards the doors just in time to see the car speed forward, intentionally hitting Carol. Hard. She flies up onto the hood, then tumbles to the ground. She ain't moving. No. No! I try to run, but the kid stops me.

"Let go of me!" I snarl.

"Wait!" He insists. "They can help her! They're the only ones who can. They have medicine! Machines, a  _ doctor! _ You go out there, you'll have to kill them, okay? And then she can't get their help, is that what you want?!"

I watch as whoever the fuck these people are, two men dressed like cops, place Carol onto a gurney and take her away.

"We can get her back," the kid continues emphatically. "We can get Beth back!"

"What's it gonna take?" I question, panting as the car speeds off.

"A lot," he admits. "They got guns, people."

"So do we," I growl.

This is the second time these people have taken off with someone I love. It ain't gonna happen again. I don't care if I have to kill every last one of 'em.

*Adrienne's POV*

Noah. The kid's name is Noah. He was being held at Grady Memorial, Beth helped him get out. I stayed there when… when I tried to kill myself. And now Beth is there. Carol is there, and she's hurt pretty badly. Apparently the people running Grady right now are holding patients there against their will, ramming them with their cars, fixing them up and then making them work off their  _ debt. _ They have one doctor. Some cop bitch named Dawn and her cronies run the place.

We're going back to Atlanta in the morning. Well, some of us are. Rick, Daryl, Ty, Sasha, me, and Noah. We're leaving Michonne to watch over Carl, Judith, and the priest. First, though, we'll have to walker-proof the church. I have a knot in my gut. Something catastrophic is about to happen, I can feel it. Not for the first time, I curse Abraham for taking off with a third of our manpower.

*Daryl's POV*

Adie's avoiding me. She's coming to Atlanta, but… every time I come into the chapel and she's here, she suddenly has something to do outside. She ain't said a word to me. Rick and Michonne filled me in. Bob's dead. That prick from Terminus, Gareth, and some of his buddies took him, knocked him out and fucking barbequed his leg while he watched. He was already bit. He was already dead. Terminus was following us,  _ watching  _ us, and I wasn't here to help.

They got 'em all, and then Abraham, Rosita, and Eugene lit out with Maggie, Glenn, and Tara. Sasha ain't saying much, neither. She's been demolishing pews with an axe the entire time Ty and I have been dismantling the organ.

"It was…" Ty trails off, handing me another pipe from the organ, stacking it atop the two I've already got in my arms. "It was good you weren't here for it."

"She hangin' in there?" I question softly.

"No," He breathes, eyeing his sister with concern before his gaze flickers back to mine. 

It ain't like anyone can blame her. Grief ain't kind. I head outside, hauling the pipes to the porch where the priest is staring sadly at the church we're tearing apart. We've been digging holes near the porch railing and fixing the pipes like fence posts around the entrance. Rick ain't gonna risk taking Carl or the baby into the city, and he ain't leaving til this place is secure.

"Are you gonna take the cross, too?" The priest demands sarcastically.

"If we need it."

*Adrienne's POV*

Daryl's driving like a lunatic, even by my standards. I can't blame him. We know where Beth is. We can get her back. Noah offered to ride in the back of the cube van he and Daryl had taken out of the city, but I didn't want to sit up front, so close to Daryl. I insisted Noah take the seat and ignored Rick when he tried to argue. I'm riding in the back with Ty and Sasha and a shit load of guns. I'm curled on my side, back to the siblings, staring at the trailer wall.

"Yeah?" Sasha murmurs, breaking the silence.

"You know I've been there," Ty says gently.

They must think I'm sleeping. I wish I was. I feel guilty, listening in on them. There's no such thing as a private conversation anymore, I know that, but this still feels intrusive.

"I know," Sasha replies.

"Bob," Ty sighs. "He would've wanted-"

"Don't," Sasha spits, startling Ty into silence. "I'm sorry," she softens. "Please, don't. Okay?"

Quiet falls once more. She doesn't wanna talk about it. I get that. If it were me… hell, I wouldn't wanna talk about anything ever again. She's not ready to grieve like that yet. She will be. Just not now. Right now, she needs to be angry and we need to let her. Eventually, I give in to the exhaustion wracking my body despite the less than comfortable circumstances and sleep the rest of the way to the city, waking only when Ty nudges me into consciousness. Once Daryl's parked the van, we duck into an empty old industrial building near Grady to talk strategy.

"At sundown we fire a shot into the air," Rick announces. "Get two of 'em out on patrol. Then once it's dark enough that the rooftop spotter won't see us, we go. We cut the locks on one of the stairways, take it to the fifth floor. I open the door, Daryl takes the guard out."

"How?" Ty questions.

"He slits his throat." Rick says simply, and Ty balks. "This is all about us doin' this quiet, keepin' the upper hand. They're not expectin' us. From there, we fan out. Knives 'n silenced weapons. We need to be fast." 

He's drawn a crude blueprint of the hospital in the dirt on the floor, now marking where he wants us placed within the building.

"Tyreese, Sasha, take them," he instructs. "Daryl, Adie, you take care of whoever is in the kitchen. I got Dawn. If they're smart, the rest of 'em will give up. Then it'll be six on three. Seven on three once we get a weapon to Beth."

"Thirteen on three," Noah amends. "The wards'll help."

"That's best case," Ty points out. "What's worst case? All it takes is one of those cops goin' down the hall at the wrong time. Then it's not quiet. All hands on deck. We're talkin' about a lotta bullets flyin' around."

"One of ours could get caught in the crossfire," I nod, eyeing Rick.

"If that's what it takes," Sasha says flatly.

"It's not," Ty argues. "If we get a couple of her cops alive out here, we do an even trade… everybody goes home."

"Theirs for ours," I muse. "But that only works if they don't consider Noah theirs. Even then, a hundred more things could go wrong."

"It's still less risky," Ty points out.

"Yeah, I get it," Rick says, rising. "And it might work. This  _ will  _ work."

"Nah," Daryl grunts. "That'll work, too. You say this Dawn, she's just tryin' to keep it together, right?"

"Tryin' and doin' are two different things," Noah shakes his head.

"You take two of her cops away, what choices does she have?" Daryl questions. "Everybody goes home. Like he says."

-

We're in hiding. Rick, Sasha, Ty, Daryl, and me. Waiting. We heard the gunshots. Where is he? Noah's the bait, in charge of drawing the cops out and leading them to us. I'm starting to worry, but then I hear the roar of an engine approaching. Holy shit, he did it. Noah's limping along, a police cruiser speeding behind him. They don't stop, using the car to knock Noah to the ground before hopping out and putting him in zip ties. Fucking pricks.

"Hands," Rick orders, the cops whirling to face the five of us stepping out from behind the stacks of crates that had hidden us from view.

"What do you want?" The female officer demands, refusing to lower her weapon.

"Your hands in the air," I snap.

"Whatever this is, we can help," her bald cohort states calmly.

"You do what we say, we don't hurt you," Rick says quietly.

"Okay," the bald cop agrees, both officers lowering their weapons.

"Good," Rick simpers. "Now turn around. Put your guns on the floor and kneel."

They do so, Daryl and Sasha cuffing them with zip ties of our own while Ty frees Noah of his restraints. I collect the officers' weapons from the ground, tucking them into my waistband. Rugers. Nice.

"We need to talk," Rick says. "There's water if you need some, and food."

"Mind if I ask you something?" The male officer questions as Daryl pulls him to his feet. "The way you talk… the way you carry yourself, were you a cop? Believe it or not, I was, too."

"That doesn't make y'all buddies," I point out, glaring.

"That's Lamson," Noah informs us quietly. "He'll be down for this. He's one of the good ones."

"You always think that til they start doin' bad shit," I murmur.

Suddenly, a second car peels into the alley. White crosses, single driver. Shit. We all fire, trying to take out the tires. Lamson and the female cop hurl themselves into the car and it speeds away. Hell no. Sasha and I exchange a glance, then aim our rifles at the back tires, firing into each. We hit our targets and both tires blow, forcing the three cops to exit the vehicle. Lamson and the woman tear off on foot, I don't see the other. We take off after the two we can see, but when I realize Daryl's not with us I double back.

I reach him just in time. The third officer has Daryl pinned to the ground, forcing his head closer and closer to the gnashing jaw of one of the half melted walkers stuck to the asphalt. I hurl myself towards them, pulling my knife out and burying it in the walker's head just as Daryl manages to sink his fingers into the eye sockets of another walker. He yanks the head from the body, hurling it at the officer still on top of him. Then Rick shows up, gun aimed at the officer's head.

"Okay," the cop says. "Okay, you win, assholes."

"Rick," Daryl prompts when it becomes clear Rick's not gonna put down the gun. "Rick. Rick! Three's better 'n two."

"Look at you, knowin' your numbers," the cop jabs.

I hurl myself at the smug bastard. My shoulder connects with his chest, taking him by surprise. I place my hand on his left shoulder, gripping him hard as I step behind his right side and, using my legs and back as leverage, kick the bastard's legs from beneath him and flip him onto my back. I twist and let him fall. He lands with a hard thud, and before he can recover I've got his hands zip tied together. He rolls over and I push my knee into his groin with enough pressure to cause more than a little discomfort.

"You done?" I snarl, glaring at the squirming man beneath me, grinding my knee down hard when he doesn't answer. "Are you done?!"

"Yes!" He yelps. "Yeah, Jesus, lady, you win. You win!"

"That's right," I hiss, getting to my feet.

Rick and Daryl are staring at me like I've just sprouted a second head.

"What?" I snap breathlessly, face burning.

"Glenn said you could do that," Rick says, composing himself. "Knowin' you can do it and seein' it..."

"I took a class," I mutter defensively as Rick chuckles in disbelief.

Daryl, cheeks burning crimson, refusing to meet my eyes, roughly yanks the cop to his feet and the four of us head back to our impromptu headquarters to meet the others without another word.


	53. I Get It Now

**Chapter 53**

*Daryl's POV*

"Your friend," Shepherd, the chick cop says, eyeing Rick where he's crouched across the room, going over the layout of the hospital with Noah  _ 'just one more time' _ again. "What's his name? I need to talk to him. Your plan is going to get me and my friends killed."

"We're gonna make it work," Sasha mutters.

"It would work if you had different cops to trade," Shepherd snaps.

"Convincing me you all're worthless isn't the brightest plan," Adie spits. "Don't give me a reason to kill you."

"Dawn's running Grady into the ground," Shepherd insists. "A bunch of us want her out and she knows it. Pretty sure she knows we want Lamson to replace her, too."

"Dawn doesn't know that," Licari, the sumbitch I should've let Rick shoot, disagrees.

"She might," Shepherd counters. "And she's smart. So there's a good chance you can't make this deal work and that'll leave us all dead. But if you let us go, we'll take care of Dawn ourselves and then we'll let your friends go and this is over."

"No," Lamson says. "We're not gonna do that."

"Do you  _ want  _ to die?" Shepherd demands incredulously.

"No," Lamson sighs. "I just need you to shut up right now."

Shepherd is stunned into silence, seething.

"You can make this work," Lamson announces. "But you've gotta be able to talk to her."

"Noah told us all about her," Sasha points out, unimpressed.

"I've known her for eight years, ma'am," Lamson says softly. "I know this woman. And my only interest is peaceful resolution, not dying, and sleeping in my bed tonight. So, please… let me help you. Please."

Ty and Sasha look to me, I guess for some kind of answer, but I'm looking at Adie. She's scowling at this guy, clearly don't trust him. Her fingers are curling and uncurling and I know she wants nothing more than to beat all their asses. Still, this guy says he can help us. He can help us get Beth and Carol back without sending any of these cops back to rat us out to Dawn.

"Hey, Rick," I call over my shoulder. "You're gonna wanna hear this."

*Adrienne's POV*

"I was stupid," Sasha blurts, angry tears forming in her eyes at her mistake.

"Hey," I soothe. "He played you. Made you trust 'im. It's not your fault."

Still, Sasha allowing Lamson to manipulate her while we were packing up to go just put a serious fucking kink in our plans. After he convinced Rick we can reason with Dawn, Lamson the  _ 'good guy'  _ gave Sasha some sob story about one of the dead bastards stuck to the asphalt outside -whose name just  _ happened _ to be Bob- being one of his old cop buddies. She offered to take him to put said dead bastard out of his misery and the son of a bitch knocked her out and ran.

Rick went after him, the rest of us staying to watch the other two cops. Rick going after him means he's as good as dead. For all my talk about killing them all, I know this Dawn bitch won't talk if she finds out we killed one of hers. It could cost Beth or Carol their lives. Maybe both. I'm pacing the floor like a caged animal by the time Rick comes back, predictably without Lamson. Fuck. I make my way over to him, Daryl on my heels.

"He wouldn't stop," Rick explains.

"This change things?" Daryl asks.

"It has to," I point out. "Dawn's not gonna work with us now, maybe not those two, either," I jerk my head towards our other hostages. "We need another plan." 

"Maybe not," Daryl muses.

"Well, she said the plan won't work," Rick gestures at Shepherd. "The guy who did is dead. Maybe we gotta rethink this."

"Yeah, they also said the cop in charge didn't have any love for 'im," Daryl points out. "Maybe you did her a favor."

"I don't know if they'll play ball," Rick counters.

"Let's find out," Daryl suggests.

"He was a good man," Shepherd announces as the three of us approach the others. "He was attacked by rotters. Saw it go down."

"All that proves is you're a liar," I hiss, unimpressed.

"Huh," Rick grunts, placing a calming hand on my shoulder. "A damn good liar, too."

I shrug away from him. I don't like this at all. Something feels  _ wrong. _ Lamson tried to run,  _ why? _ To warn Dawn. But why,  _ why _ would he risk it? We were gonna do this without firing a shot if we could help it, he knew that. If he'd made it back before Rick got to him, the plan would've been shot to hell and it would've been a bloodbath. So  _ why? _

"We're hangin' by a thread, here," Shepherd counters. "He was attacked by rotters. That's the story."

"You said the trade was a bad idea," Daryl states evenly. "What changed?"

"Lamson was our  _ shot, _ " she says emphatically. "So it's this or you go in guns blazing, right? You don't want that."

I scoff, stalking off to stand by the window and seethe before I knock this lying bitch into next Tuesday.

"If this is some bullshit you're spinnin' 'n things go south-" Daryl starts.

"I know," Shepherd interrupts. "I know the good ones from the bad."

I can't help letting out a snort at that. What a fucking cliche line. I don't trust these people. My stomach is in knots.

"Let us help you," Shepherd insists.

"What about you?" Rick asks, turning to Licari. "You wanna live? How much?"

"Dawn's afraid she'll look weak in front of us," Licari sighs. "Thinks it'll tip things against her. Hell, it will. She'll see this trade as a rip-off if she thinks you took out one of our guys. So it's a good thing Lamson got aced by rotters."

"Shit," I grunt. "Some friends y'all are."

Still, this is our only shot to get Beth and Carol back. We don't have another choice. And that's how we end up on the roof of a parking garage, guns trained on a squad car with two armed men inside heading straight for Rick. He's alone. Shepherd and Licari radioed ahead, set up this little meet and greet. Daryl and Sasha have guns on the two officers in the parking lot with Rick. The rest of us have our weapons trained on Shepherd and Licari, in case they try anything stupid.

After a quick conversation with Rick via shortwave radio, Dawn has agreed to meet with us and make the trade. We file into the hospital and it's  _ suffocating. _ Last time I was here, I'd slit my wrist. I wanted to die. Hell, I almost  _ did _ die. I'm nauseous. Daryl can feel it, too. The anxiety, rolling off me in waves. He glances my way every so often, concerned. Probably scared I'm gonna check out. Have a panic attack and run. But I'm stronger than I used to be. I can stay in the moment, fight through the terror I feel in my bones. I have to. No matter what happens. We're gonna get our people back. I don't care if I have to kill every person in this godforsaken hellhole, we're getting them back. We come to a stop at a set of double doors, Dawn and company on the other side.

"Holster your weapons," Dawn's voice squawks from the radio.

"You, too," Rick orders, and we all do so before walking through the doors.

The knot in my stomach loosens fractionally at the sight of Carol and Beth. They're alive. Hurt, but alive. Maybe we'll get out of this. I take in the stitched up wounds on Beth's face, the cast on her right forearm, a sudden searing anger coursing through my veins at the sight. What the hell have they done to her? And Carol… Carol's in a  _ wheelchair. _

Beth's eyes catch mine, her face brightening. Then her gaze flickers to my left and a cherubic grin spreads across her face. I glance at Daryl. He's staring at her as if he's going to break into a run at any moment, snatch her up and take her away from this place. As ridiculous as it is in our current situation, my heart breaks. My eyes land back on Beth's and her face falls, guilt clouding her porcelain features. I soften my gaze. It's not her fault. You can't help the way you feel. I can't blame Daryl. Beth looks like an angel, even now, with her face all banged up. She's alive. I didn't quite believe it, but I can  _ see  _ her. We still get to save people.

"They haven't been harmed," Rick tells Dawn, referring to Shepherd and Licari.

"Where's Lamson?" Dawn demands.

"Rotters got him," Shepherd volunteers.

"We saw it go down," Licari backs her up.

"Oh," Dawn says, eyes filling with tears. "I'm sorry to hear that. He was one of the good guys. One of yours for one of mine."

"All right," Rick agrees, nodding at Daryl.

"Move," Daryl mutters, pushing Licari forward as one of Dawn's men wheels Carol towards us.

They meet in the middle, the exchange happens, and Daryl wheels Carol over to us as Rick moves forward with Shepherd to collect Beth from Dawn. I take Carol's hands in mine, helping her to her feet. She leans on me as we watch the scene unfolding before us. Rick pulls Beth into him, then passes her to Daryl. Daryl's arm goes around her immediately and they walk back towards us together. Jealousy claws at my insides. I try to ignore it, shake it off. Gonna have to get used to it, right? They deserve to be happy and one day I'll find it in me to be happy for them.

I will.

"Glad we could work things out," Dawn states.

"Yeah," Rick scoffs, turning to walk away.

"Now I just need Noah," Dawn blurts, stopping us all in our tracks. "And then you can leave."

"That wasn't part of the deal," Rick hisses, striding back towards the woman.

"Noah was my ward," she counters. "Beth took his place and I'm losing her, so I need him back."

"Ma'am, please, it's not-" Shepherd starts.

"Shepherd!" Dawn snaps, silencing the woman behind her. "My officers put their lives on the line to find him. One of them died."

"No, he ain't stayin'," Daryl growls, stepping forward before Noah can give himself up.

"He's one of mine, you have no claim on him," Dawn insists.

" _ Claim? _ He's a person!" I snarl, moving protectively in front of Noah. "You want your sheets folded, do it yourself."

"The boy wants to go home, so you have no claim on him," Rick hisses.

"Well, then we don't have a deal," Dawn shakes her head, and I want to rip it from her shoulders.

"The deal is done!" Rick growls.

"It, it, it's okay," Noah says, sidestepping me and limping forward.

Beth is instantly at my side, her hand snatching mine and clinging to it. She's frightened. These people, this hospital… they're up to something terrible. People are forced here, then held against their will.  _ Why? _

"No, no!" Rick insists, blocking him.

"I gotta do it," Noah argues fervently, handing Rick his gun.

"It's not okay," Beth breathes, stepping forward.

"It's settled," Dawn simpers as Rick takes the gun, Noah stepping towards her.

"Wait!" Beth sprints after Noah, embracing him.

"It's okay," Noah tells her.

"I knew you'd be back," Dawn says smugly, eyeing him.

At this, Beth releases Noah and he shuffles into the group behind Dawn as Beth steps forward, drawing level with the cold woman in front of her.

"I get it now," Beth says flatly.

Then, faster than I can process, Beth lunges at Dawn, pulling a pair of sewing scissors from her cast and plunging them into Dawn's chest. A gun goes off, a single round. Dawn's? Oh, my god, Beth… a bullet exits the back of Beth's head and the whole world stills as her body falls. I lurch forward, dropping to my knees and catching Beth's head before it can hit the floor. There's too much blood. Her eyes stare forward, vacant. Unseeing. No. No, no, no, no, Beth. No!

The next thing I'm aware of is the sound of Daryl's gun. Dawn's head flying back, her body thudding to the ground. Then, everyone's weapons are drawn. I can't get up. I can't move. Beth… I'm only vaguely aware of the horrible rasping sobs coming from my body, unable to tear my eyes away from Beth.

"No! Hold your fire!" Shepherd screams. "It's over. It was just about her. Stand down."

Shepherd's men put their weapons away. Then the most heart wrenching sound I've ever heard breaks the silence. Daryl, sobbing like a small child, staring down at the dead girl I'm cradling in my arms, her blood pooling around us. Beth. No. It can't, she can't, she's not…

"No," I whimper. "No, I can fix this, I can fix…  _ Beth. _ "

I can  _ fix  _ this. I have to. I'm unaware of anything outside Daryl's cries and Beth's body going cold in my arms. People are talking. I can hear them, but I don't know what's being said. Beth. Warm, happy, beautiful,  _ innocent _ Beth… she's gone. She was there, she was  _ right here, _ and she's  _ gone. _ I kiss her head, gently closing her eyes with my fingertips.

I can't fix it.

Daryl kneels beside me, tears streaming down his cheeks as he looks Beth's blank, battered face. Rick pulls me to my feet while Daryl lifts Beth's body from the floor, cradling her to him as we make our way out to the parking lot. The others are here. Michonne, Carl... Abraham? Oh god, if he's here…

Maggie's screams shatter the air as she catches sight of her sister, falling to the ground, unable to take her eyes off the girl in Daryl's arms.

Michonne's horror-stricken eyes meet mine, and I collapse into her. She holds me and I sob helplessly into her shoulder, Maggie's wails wrenching violently from her body as we all mourn the loss of the girl we couldn't save, the girl some of us had never met. The girl who used to write down wishes and sing us to sleep, who saw beauty in  _ everything… _ blown away in the blink of an eye.

-

We can't stay long. Time is a luxury these days, one we can rarely afford. So we take her body. We find a clearing in the woods and lay her to rest. We grieve. We bury her, and we cry, we pay our respects. And then we move on. Because we have to. Because that's what we do. Beth was gonna take Noah back home. A town just outside Richmond, Virginia. 500 miles away. That's our destination.

"It was secure," Rick tells us. "It has a wall, homes, 20 people. Beth wanted to go with him. She wanted to get him there."

"Then we'll go," I sniff. "We'll get him there."

"It's a long trip, but if it works out, it's the last long trip we have to make," Rick says, nodding.

"And what if it isn't around anymore?" Glenn questions flatly.

"Then we keep goin'," Rick says simply.

"Then we find a new place," Michonne adds.

And it's settled. We're going. It's what Beth wanted.

-

We're a little over 10 miles away from Noah's town. We've made it this far. It took seventeen days, but we made it. Rick, Ty, Glenn, Noah, and Michonne are gonna go ahead. Check it out, see if it's even worth going to, if it's still standing. If it is, Rick will radio back to us and we'll meet them.

"Here," Rick thrusts a radio into my hands. "I'm gonna check in every couple miles. Keep this on you, hold things down here. Keep it tight."

I nod, watching the five of them pack up and leave. The rest of us stay camped out with our other vehicles on the side of the road. We're silent. Or crying. Nothing to talk about and everything to mourn. Seventeen days. Seventeen days, she's been gone. It doesn't feel real. She was  _ there. _

"Hey, Adie?" The radio in my pocket squawks eventually, Rick on the other end.

"What's up?" I question, holding the radio to my face.

"We're halfway there," Rick's voice crackles. "Just wanted to check the range."

"Loud 'n clear, Sheriff."

"Don't call me that."

"Yes, Officer."

There's a lengthy silence, but I know I haven't lost him. I know I shouldn't tease him, but I guess it just feels… normal. The two seconds of amusement are two seconds I'm not thinking about what we've lost. About blonde hair stained red or vacant blue eyes. For two seconds, it feels like things are okay. So Rick allows the teasing.

"How you holdin' up?"

"We're… keepin' it together," I tell him sadly, eyeing the distraught faces around me. "We've come 500 miles… maybe we're hittin' our stride. Maybe this can be the easy part."

"Gotta think we're due," he replies. "Give us 20 minutes to check in."

"I don't hear from you in 21, we'll come find you."

"Copy that."

I assume my typical position atop the roof of one of our cars, scanning the area for any signs of a threat. I spot none, but remain wary. There's always a threat sooner or later. The world belongs to the dead now. I sit cross-legged, watching. Waiting. Counting the seconds as they pass, waiting for Rick's update. Eventually, predictably, my thoughts wander to Daryl. He's a wreck. He wasn't even this bad when Merle died. He doesn't speak almost at all anymore. He doesn't cry or yell or break shit and I don't know how to help him. I don't think I can.

I've been keeping my distance. I feel so  _ guilty. _ If I'd been quicker, if I'd seen it coming… it should've been me. I wish more than anything I could trade Beth places. That I could save her, that I could  _ fix  _ this. Maggie's not speaking much, either. When she does speak, it's almost exclusively to Glenn. I don't know how to help her, either.

"Adie, you copy?" Rick's voice, tinny and distorted, breaks me from my thoughts.

"Yeah, I'm here."

"We made it," he says, breathing heavily. "It's gone. We… we're gonna sweep it for supplies 'n come back."

"Damn it," I sigh. "Copy."

My heart sinks. Of course it's gone. Everything's gone, isn't it? Eugene finally fessed up, that's why Abraham and the rest of the crew were at the hospital. Why they'd come back. Eugene's not a fucking doctor. Just a well educated nerd with a vivid imagination and no other means of survival beyond tricking better men into protecting him. DC is gone. The church is gone. Just like the prison, the farm, the CDC. Half our people are gone. There's nothing left for us. I climb down from my perch and head over to Daryl and Carol, the two of them slumped beside each other against a tree.

"They made it," I murmur. "There's nothin' left. They're… they're gonna take what they can 'n come back."

Daryl doesn't even look up. Carol watches me watching him and I feel the guilt claw at my insides again. Caught looking at a man who just lost… whatever Beth was to him. I'd trade places if I could, if… if I could just bring her back, everything would be okay again. I clear my throat and turn abruptly, heading over to tell Abraham and the others. We wait. And within the next two hours, we're burying Tyreese. He'd been bitten. We've lost three of our own in less than three weeks.

Watching Sasha's expressionless face as she dumps a shovelful of dirt onto her brother's body, I wonder how much more we can take. How many more we can bury before it kills us all.


	54. Keep Pinin', Darlin'

**Chapter 54**

*Daryl's POV*

Richmond was a bust. Eugene's a liar. Don't surprise me. Beth is dead. It's my fault. Tyreese, Bob… they're both gone, too. We're heading for DC. Eugene ain't a damn doctor, but he's smart. Picked DC for a reason. Adrienne's against it. Argued back and forth with Rick and Abraham for hours before giving it up, heading into the trees. She'd come back with bloody fists and red-rimmed eyes. She thinks it's the CDC all over again. I don't know if we're gonna make it. All we think about now is food. We're starving. Damn close to out of water. The world around us is dying, and we are too.

The group split up to search the woods for anything edible. Anything at all. Maggie, Sasha and I are the last to meet back at the van, the others all sitting dejectedly around it as we approach.

"Oh, shit," Maggie sighs as we shuffle towards them. "It's been a day and a half. They didn't find any either."

"How do you know?" Sasha questions.

"I know," Maggie says flatly. "How much longer we got?"

"60 miles," Sasha sighs wearily.

"I wasn't talkin' about that," Maggie replies heavily.

We got another couple days before we start dying from dehydration, unless something changes real quick. We all pile into our single vehicle and hit the road again.

*Adrienne's POV*

We're all squished uncomfortably together in the van, rolling down the street like a bunch of emaciated circus freaks packed inside a very large clown car. I'm wedged in tight between Eugene and Tara. Daryl's against the door, Carol on his other side, and I can't help but be just a little bit envious of his exponentially better company.

"Statistically speakin'-"

"Shut up, Eugene," I sigh, rubbing my temples.

"Okay."

"You don't have to be mean," Tara mutters.

Before I can tell her yes, I do, in fact, have to be mean, the engine starts to sputter. We knew it was coming. We've had about as much luck finding fuel as we've had finding food and water.

"We're out," Abraham announces, the car coming to a halt. "Just like the other one."

"So we walk," Rick says, and we all tumble out of the vehicle.

It's unbelievably hot but, still, we walk, feet pounding the pavement like the world's slowest marching band. Without the band. Rick and Daryl are leading the way, Judith tucked into Rick's arms, Carol and I just behind them.

"We're not at our strongest," Rick says quietly as Daryl turns, casting a wary glance at the group of walkers shambling along behind us. "We'll get 'em when it's best. High ground, somethin' like that. They're not goin' anywhere."

Daryl says nothing. I don't think I've heard him speak but maybe three words since… since before Beth.

"It's been three weeks since Atlanta," Rick murmurs. "I know you lost somethin' back there."

Carol eyes me, and I realize she knows I'm listening. But I guess it's okay, 'cause that means she's listening, too. She squeezes my hand. Judith begins to fuss, hungry and unable to understand why she's not being fed, and I will myself to stop listening in on the conversation between the two men in front of me. Doesn't matter, though, because Daryl's apparently not having this discussion today.

"She's hungry," he mutters, eyeing the baby.

"She's okay," Rick says, holding her tighter. "She's goin' to be okay."

"We need to find water, food," Daryl says, frustration lacing his voice.

"We'll hit somethin' in the road," Rick insists. "It's gonna rain sooner or later."

"I'm gon' head out," Daryl says abruptly, handing his rifle to Rick. "See what I can find."

"Hey," Rick says. "Don't be too long."

"I'll go with you," Carol volunteers, releasing my hand and following Daryl into the trees.

"Hey, I got it," Daryl assures her.

"You gonna stop me?" She counters. "Adie, you coming?"

Daryl comes to a halt soon as she utters my name. He doesn't want me around. I shake my head and they disappear into the woods. I fall into step beside Rick, ignoring his concerned gaze. He elbows me gently, forcing me to meet his questioning eyes, silently climbing into my head and reading my thoughts without me having to speak at all.

_ You all right? _

_ That's a stupid question. None of us are all right. _

_ Ain't what I'm askin'. _

_ I'm fine. _

He rolls his eyes, not accepting my answer but not arguing either. The walkers are gaining on us.

"We're gonna have to take care of that," I point out.

Rick nods grimly. Yes, we are. But not yet. We're not strong enough.

*Daryl's POV*

"Anything?" Carol breaks the silence.

"No, it's too dry," I tell her, looking at the ground. "There ain't nothin' here."

"Maybe we should start back," she suggests.

"You go," I counter, not ready to go back yet.

"I think she saved my life," she blurts abruptly. "She saved your life, too, right?"

I can't answer. I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to think about her. Adrienne's bloody clothes are a daily reminder. Beth's blood. Carol steps towards me, thrusting a sheathed knife into my hand. Beth's knife. Everything is a constant reminder I couldn't fucking save her.

"It was hers," she says, and I'm forced to meet her eyes. "We're not dead. That's what you said. You're not dead. I know you. We're different. I can't let myself… But you? I  _ know _ you. You have to let yourself feel it."

I can't. I feel the tears stinging in my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. No one gets it. She's the reason I'm alive. The reason I didn't just check out after the prison. And it's my fault she's…  _ I lost her. _ Just let 'em drive off. This is my fault. Carol sweeps my hair from my eyes, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

"You will," she says softly.

*Adrienne's POV*

"C'mere, asshole," I mutter, coaxing a walker in a nightdress towards me.

The solution to our walker problem has presented itself in the form of a very conveniently located overpass. The plan is to lure them just close enough we can push them over the edge. Minimal effort. It may not kill them, but it'll at least redirect them. Get them the fuck off our asses, at least, give us one less thing to worry about. It's going fine, all of us dodging the walkers, allowing them to fall underneath the overpass as planned. Until Sasha plunges her knife into one of them, despite having been told repeatedly it would be stupid. Reckless.

"Sasha!" Michonne hisses.

"Stay in line," Rick orders, pulling his machete. "Flank her. Keep it controlled."

"Plan just got dicked," Abraham sighs.

We launch ourselves into the fray, using what precious energy we have left on something we could've done so damn easily. But we're doing it. We can do this. I take down a couple, glancing around just in time to catch the walker about to clamp its jaws down on Rick's arm. Before I can react, Daryl emerges from the trees, grabbing the walker by the scalp and yanking it off of Rick. There are only a few left. Michonne grabs Sasha by the arm, shoving her to the ground before whirling around with her sword and decapitating the last two walkers.

"I told you to stop," she snarls, glaring at Sasha still on the road.

Sasha gets to her feet, staring murderously into Michonne's eyes. She hasn't put her knife down and, just for a moment, I think she's gonna attack her. She's dangerous. Pissed off, just like Ty was after what happened to Karen. I get it. I'm pissed, too. We all are. But we can't afford to be reckless, not now.

"Sasha," I snap breathlessly, her gaze meeting mine. "You… you have to stop. None of this-" I gesture around us, the corpses on the ground, our almost totally depleted people. "is gonna bring  _ anybody _ back."

My voice cracks pathetically, tears beginning to fall. Sasha's face stays hard. Angry.

"You're gonna get us all killed," I finish, voice barely above a whisper.

She says nothing, sheathing her knife and stalking off down the road. We all fall into step behind her, continuing our arduous journey towards DC. We've still got… shit, must be 45 miles still to go, and at this pace… it's starting to feel like a death march. It's quiet for another hour or so before Carl breaks the silence.

"Dad, look!" He murmurs excitedly as we make our way up and over an incline in the road, several cars coming into view at the bottom of the hill.

"I'm gon' head out in the woods, circle back," Daryl announces, eyeing the abandoned vehicles.

"May I come with?" Carol asks softly.

"No," he grunts. "No, just me."

Carol nods and Daryl takes off again. Every time he leaves, I worry it's gonna be the last time. What if he doesn't come back? My gaze follows him into the trees until I can't see him anymore, vision blurring with unshed tears. I feel like such a selfish bitch. All this pain, this loss… and I'm still pining over him like a fucking teenager. I hate myself for it.

"Oh, Adie," Carol murmurs, taking my hand. "Come on."

I nod, tears welling over and slipping silently down my cheeks while we gut the cars, finding jack shit we can use. Nothing. Just a bottle of whiskey, which Abraham dug out of some poor dead bastard's glovebox. We all collapse in a heap on the side of the road, spent and waiting for Daryl. He eventually emerges from the woods, empty-handed, and joins us on the ground. Abraham tips his bottle in my direction, a silent offering. I shake my head and he lifts it to his lips, taking a hearty swig. Idiot. Alcohol isn't gonna do shit but dehydrate him faster.

I get to my feet, needing to move despite the overwhelming exhaustion, and pace along the road, one side to the other, back and forth. On my third pass, Daryl's hand snatches mine and I freeze, glancing down at him. He's not looking at me. He's just staring pointedly at the ground like… like he's  _ chastising _ me. Sit down, conserve your energy, don't make this worse for yourself. I yank my hand from his and stalk back to my seat beside Abraham, this time snatching the bottle he offers and taking a small sip.

"You're gonna make it worse," Rick points out.

I take a second, larger sip, glaring at him all the while. I  _ know. _ I know it's gonna make things worse, but I don't give a shit anymore. Before anyone can reprimand me further, a small pack of dogs emerges from the woods directly across from us. They're feral, snarling beasts. Hungry. Big, too. German Shepherd, a Doberman, and a couple others I don't recognize. The Shepherd barks, the animals ready to attack. Jesus Christ, does  _ everything  _ left in this world want to eat us? Dead people, living people, now the fucking  _ dogs  _ are turning on us? So much for man's best friend.

Before anyone else can make a move, Sasha's on her feet. She fires silenced rounds into each dog, simultaneously taking out the threat and, sick as it is, providing a meal. Daryl cleans them while Carol and I set up a cooking fire, and, soon enough, it's lunchtime. These were somebody's pets. I can't shake the thought. I can't eat this. They had  _ collars. _ Suddenly, a fist sized hunk of meat drops unceremoniously into my lap.

I glance up, Daryl's eyes boring into mine. He nods once, taking a seat on the other side of the fire. I'd like to fling it right back at him, tell him I don't need a goddamn babysitter and I sure as shit don't need his pity, but... I look at the meat in my hands and this desperate, all consuming hunger takes over. I don't even taste it, just wolf it down, full for the first time in days. When we're finished, we put the fire out and start walking again, slightly more energy than we'd had this morning. Just enough to keep us going.

-

"Adie," Glenn holds out a bottle of water, but it's almost gone so I shake my head. "Adie, c'mon, you're not so tough you don't need water anymore."

I sigh heavily and snatch the bottle, consuming approximately half a sip before returning it to his waiting hand. Glenn rolls his eyes, then turns to offer the bottle to Daryl.

"No, I'm alright."

"Daryl," Glenn repeats, thrusting the bottle closer.

"Don't," Daryl mutters, turning away.

"Hey," Glenn tells him, softening. "We can make it together. But we can only make it together."

Glenn pulls ahead, falling back into step alongside Maggie. Daryl remains silent for a few moments.

"Tell 'em I went lookin' for water," he grunts abruptly, taking off into the woods.

Again.

Fuck, I'm tired of watching him leave, worrying he's never gonna come back. Guess that's the price you pay when you love someone. I can't turn it off. I know it's never gonna be the way I want, but I can't help how I feel, no matter how hard I try. At least he's making it easy to avoid him, all this galavanting off into the woods. It's gotta stop hurting so bad one of these days, right? My musing is interrupted by an amused chuckle. Abraham's eyeing me, shaking his head.

"What?" I snap.

"Nothin'," Abraham snorts, taking another sip from the bottle in his hand. "Keep pinin', darlin'."

"Fuck off," I hiss.

God damn it, am I really so fucking obvious? Abe, Carol, even  _ Rick… _ hell, they must all think I'm such a creep. He's  _ grieving,  _ and I'm... guilt sours my belly, but before I have much time to contemplate this further, we stumble across something in the road. What the hell?

*Daryl's POV*

Ain't been able to shake the conversation with Carol outta my head all damn day, how I have to feel it. I don't know how the fuck I'm supposed to do that. I don't know what I feel. Grief. Guilt. I lost Beth. Now Beth is gone. Dead. She's dead. Hershel is dead, them two little girls are dead, Ty, Bob… if I'd just kept looking, kept going out with Michonne, if we'd found him before he found us, we'd still be back at the prison and they'd all still be alive.

I've made my way onto a small path in the forest, followed it to an abandoned barn. I drop heavily to the ground, leaning against a tree. I still got a few smokes left. Been trying to save 'em. Break glass if needed. It's needed. I pull a cigarette from my pocket and light up, inhaling and feeling the immediate calm as the smoke fills my lungs, nicotine flooding my system. Carol said to feel it. Well, here I am.

I can't. I need to let it out, but I  _ can't _ cry. It's like I forgot how or some shit, like… like I'm trying to hold my hand over an open flame and my body won't let me, like…

I have a lit cigarette hanging from my mouth. I pull it out, contemplating the ashy, white hot end, and do a thing I ain't done in years. I press the burning cigarette to the patch of skin between my thumb and index finger. The pain don't come immediately, but it does come, searing and angry. The tears prick my eyes and it's enough. The dam breaks, and I'm overcome.

And this time, I don't fight it. I drop my cigarette, not particularly giving a shit if the dry grass catches fire, if I'm engulfed in flames. I let it take me, let the grief sweep me away entirely and swallow me whole. I sob, tears running down my face and soaking into the dirt beneath me. I let the sorrow out. The guilt, the loss… I let it all go.

*Adrienne's POV*

"From a  _ friend? _ " I read off the note left beneath a pile of water bottles sitting in the middle of the road, Rick snatching it from my hand. "No fuckin' way."

I pace, torn. We  _ need _ this. But what if this friend's not so friendly? We've come across plenty of murderous freaks before, why should we trust this? Because we need it. After a good half hour of back and forth debate over whether or not to drink the water, Daryl steps out of the trees. I take in his ruddy cheeks, the puffy eyes he's trying to hide behind his hair, the burn mark on his hand. My heart aches for him. I never want him to hurt again. Rick hands him the note as he takes in the scene before him.

"What else are we gonna do?" Tara questions, continuing our argument.

"Not this," Rick says, backing me up. "We don't know who left it."

"If that's a trap, we already happen to be in it," Eugene points out, not taking his eyes off the water. "But I, for one, would like to think it is indeed from a friend."

"Do you  _ ever _ stop talkin' like you're in the fuckin' Elder Scrolls?" I snap, earning a glare from Rosita, who, despite his lying bullshit, is still fiercely defensive of Eugene.

"What if it isn't?" Carol asks. "What if they put something in it?"

Eugene decides he doesn't care, snatching up a water bottle.

"What are you doing, dude?" Tara demands incredulously as Eugene unscrews the cap.

"Quality assurance," he replies, lifting the bottle to his lips.

Before he can take a sip, Abraham steps forward and violently slaps the open bottle from his hand. Water splashes everywhere, spraying Eugene's stricken face. People  _ died _ trying to get this man to DC. Like hell he's gonna die now. No, he gets to live with himself.

"We can't," Rick says with an air of finality.

Before anyone can argue further, thunder claps and the sky opens up above us, a heavy rain beginning to pour. We're instantly soaked, water cascading down upon us in droves. Daryl's not moving, his face… I can't take away his pain and it kills me. I'd do anything. I move towards him hesitantly, carefully unclipping the empty water bottle from his belt and popping the top open. I watch it fill, the rain turning into a downpour real quick.

"Everybody," Rick calls us to attention, eyeing the bottle in my hands. "Get the bags. Anything you can find. Come on."

The thunder continues to sound while Rick, Carol, Michonne, and Abe set out the bowls and empty water bottles we've been packing around with us, the sky darkening ominously. I clip Daryl's bottle back to his belt, glancing up at the horizon when Judith begins to cry.

"Rick," I say nervously, eyeing the rapidly churning clouds.

"I see 'em," he assures me. "Let's keep movin'."

"There's a barn," Daryl announces, shouting to be heard over the thunder.

"Where?" Rick demands.


	55. You Mean It?

**Chapter 55**

We grab our things and tear through the woods, Daryl leading us to a large, abandoned barn at the end of a dirt path. I head inside along with Carol, Rick, Daryl, Glenn, Abraham, and Maggie. It's clear, save for a single walker hidden away in a small closet.

We've built a tiny fire, a few of us gathering around it for warmth while the rest settle into various corners of the barn for some much needed rest. I'm seated between Rick and Daryl, Carl's head in my lap while he sleeps, Judith tucked safely into his arms. Now that we have water, she'd finally gotten a bottle, had greedily sucked down an entire eight ounces in record time and promptly fell asleep. I'm grateful. Being a baby and not quite old enough for dog steaks and whatever the hell else we manage to scrape up, she's the hardest to keep fed. It's damn nice to see her full-bellied and content.

"I'll try," Glenn offers, reaching for the stick Daryl's just tossed aside.

"Nah," Daryl grunts. "They're too wet."

Rick eyes his sleeping son, concern clouding his face while the storm rages on outside.

"He's gonna be okay," Carol murmurs. "He bounces back. More than any of us do."

"Speak for yourself," I mutter sarcastically, smoothing Carl's hair. "I feel wonderful."

"I used to feel sorry for kids that have to grow up now," Rick says solemnly. "In this. But I think I got it wrong. Growin' up's gettin' used to the world. This is easier for 'em."

"This isn't the world," Michonne counters. "This isn't it."

"It might be," Glenn says sadly. "It might."

"That's giving up," Michonne insists.

"It's reality," Glenn retorts.

"Right now it is," I point out, Rick eyeing me.

"Until we see otherwise, this is what we have to live with," Rick nods. "When I was a kid… I asked my grandpa once if he ever killed any Germans in the war. He wouldn't answer. He said that was grown up stuff, so… so I asked if the Germans ever tried to kill him. But he got real quiet. He said he was dead the minute he stepped into enemy territory."

Despite having mostly dried off, his words send a chill deep into my bones. I find myself watching Daryl while we listen, the flames dancing across his face, gazing intently into the fire. I've always loved the way he looks in this light, all bronzed skin and deep shadows, and I can't help but stare. His eyes flicker towards mine and I drop my gaze, my hair falling forward to conceal my now burning cheeks.

"Every day he woke up and told himself  _ 'rest in peace, now get up and go to war,' _ " Rick continues. "And then after a few years of pretending he was dead… he made it out alive. And that's the trick of it, I think. We do what we need to do and  _ then _ we get to live. But no matter what we find in DC, I know we'll be okay. Because this is how we survive. We tell ourselves… that  _ we _ are the walking dead."

No one says anything. I don't think anyone knows how to respond. But I can't accept it. I can't.

"That's bullshit," I blurt, lifting my eyes once more, carefully sliding out from beneath Carl and shifting his head onto a small pile of loose hay.

I get to my feet, unable to listen to any more campfire stories. How in the exact fuck does one pretend to be dead when every second of every goddamn day we're forced to face just how fragile our own mortality really is? We're not dead. We're painfully,  _ agonizingly _ alive. Pretending otherwise would kill us all. I stomp up the stairs to the hayloft and take a seat, legs dangling off the edge, while the group around the fire continue their hushed conversation. Not even a minute later, Daryl's left the circle, headed my way.

He's remarkably quiet as he ascends the stairs, footsteps hardly able to be heard over the roar of the thunder, but I can feel him behind me. Neither of us say anything for a moment, and I almost think I imagined him. I glance over my shoulder, just to check, and, sure enough, he's there. Just standing, chewing on his thumb.

"You can sit, if you want," I say lamely, patting the floor beside me.

He doesn't sit. He doesn't even move. I turn away, casting my eyes back down to the flames. Then the floor creaks behind me, Daryl stepping forward and taking a seat next to me. He watches me, chewing his lip.

"We ain't them," he says finally.

"I know."

It's quiet for a moment, the two of us lost in our own heads. We're not dead.

"This is probably crazy, but…" I trail off, searching for the right words. "I feel more alive now than I ever did. Before, I was just… survivin'. Breathin'. And I wasn't alone but I was  _ alone. _ "

"Nah," he murmurs. "It ain't crazy. Rick… he jus' forgets the world ain't changed much for some."

"Sometimes I think it's better," I admit, tears welling in my eyes. "I'm not alone anymore. There's a reason to fight, keep fightin'. Somethin' worth stickin' around for. Jesus, it's selfish, but..."

I trail off, certain he must think I'm awful.

"Hey," he says softly, waiting for my eyes to meet his before he continues. "You ain't selfish."

But I am, I know I am, because all I can think about now, our faces just inches from each other, is his lips on mine. It would be so easy to just... he rises to his feet, dusting himself off.

"I'm gon' go keep watch," he says gruffly, disappearing down the stairs.

I pull my legs up, drawing my knees to my chest as fresh tears spill down my cheeks. I sit motionless for what feels like eternity, just watching Daryl pace back and forth in front of the doors, ever vigilant. I lay flat on my back, legs still dangling from the hayloft while the storm howls on and on and on…

-

I wake with a start, eyes flying open. I didn't realize I'd fallen asleep. Stupid. You don't sleep until it's safe, I  _ know  _ that. Something's not right. I sit up slowly, listening to the barn doors smack against the frames, but there's something… something else... snarls, barely audible, low beneath the screaming wind. But definitely there. I get to my feet, cautiously descending the staircase as Daryl approaches the barn doors, squinting suspiciously.

"Holy shit!" He snarls, flinging the doors shut, tightening the chain we'd left around the handles thinking it would be enough.

I race towards him as he flings his back against the doors, hurling myself against the old, weather worn wood, back flattened against the seam where the doors meet as a herd of walkers attempt to breach the barn, Maggie leaping from the floor and joining us. It's not gonna hold. Daryl flips around, his hands on either side of my body. I stare up into his eyes, terrified, his gaze boring into mine. I dig my heels into the dirt, pushing back against the dead with every ounce of strength I can summon.

Just when I think the doors are gonna give, Sasha flings herself against the door beside me. Then Rick. Carol. Michonne, Glenn. Noah, Abraham, Tara, Eugene, Gabriel, Rosita, Carl. We can do it. All of us, together. And  _ only _ together.

*Daryl's POV*

The fight to keep the doors shut against the walkers wore everybody out. It's weird. A herd, hellbent on getting inside… suddenly they were gone. Storm lightened up, some, too. The others have all gone to sleep, exhausted, all of 'em except Adie. She's pale as a goddamn ghost, sitting cross-legged, her back against the wall directly across from the doors, opening and closing the music box Carl found on the road and gave to Maggie over and over again. As if something different's gonna happen if she tries just one more time. I take a seat next to her.

"You should sleep."

"So should you," she counters, not bothering to look up as she continues to fiddle with the box.

"Lemme look," I murmur, holding my hand out.

She hands it to me without a word, glaring at it as though it's wronged her in some way. I pull it apart, checking the gearbox. It's full of dirt, but it's dry enough I might be able to get it working if I can clean it out some. I glance at Adrienne. She's watching the doors. I busy myself with the box, concentrating on getting all the dirt out of the gears.

When I've done the best job I can, I put it back together and place it in Adie's hands. She lifts the lid and a simple, lilting tune begins to play, the tiny ballerina inside spinning in place. Her eyes light up and the sight damn near takes my breath away, her small, delighted smile like a vice grip on my heart, which, quite suddenly, seems to be beating double time. She watches the tiny ballerina in the box twirl for a few moments before her face falls and she carefully lowers the lid, gently placing it on the floor between us.

"Daryl," she whispers hesitantly. "At the prison, when I… when I got sick. Before you left for the vet school. I told you somethin'…"

She trails off and I can feel all the air in my lungs disappear. I know what she said. I haven't forgotten. I can still hear it playing in my head, crystal clear.

_ Be safe. Come back. I love you. _

"You mean it?" I question softly, eyeing her.

Her eyes meet mine, wet with unshed tears. She's quiet for a moment, her lip trembling, something that looks a hell of a lot like guilt clouding her features. She's gonna tell me she didn't, that it was just something she said 'cause she thought she was dying. I brace myself, gritting my teeth.

"I did," she nods, closing her eyes as her tears begin to fall. "I still do. I don't know how to stop, I thought I could ignore it, I thought-"

"Why?" I blurt.

"What happened with you 'n Beth…" she breathes, pain etched into her features, shaking her head. "I never should've kissed you at the church, I know, and I was tryin' to keep my distance, I was, but I, I don't know if I can, I don't… I don't know how to be around you and  _ feel _ this way."

"It ain't like that," I whisper, tears pricking the backs of my eyes. "I got out with her. It was just us after, 'n she wanted to go back, look for survivors, for you 'n Maggie, all y'all, but I couldn't."

She eyes me, tears still flowing, listening intently. Just letting me talk like she always has. I can tell her. I can talk about it a little, just a little, with her. I take a deep breath and continue.

"You said you got a reason to fight now. Keep goin'. She was all I thought was left after the prison. It was just us. I couldn't jus' check out, I had to stick with her. She was my reason and I  _ lost _ her."

My voice cracks and I begin to quietly sob. Talking about her, feeling it… Jesus Christ, it  _ hurts _ . I let my head fall to Adie's shoulder, burying my face in her neck. She wraps her arms around me, and together we cry. And it's good, in a way. She's not saying anything, not willing it all away with pretty words. She's just feeling it with me. I ain't alone. She's still right here.

Eventually the tears slow and I pull away from her, leaning back against the wall. She wipes her own tears away, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy, and it strikes me for the millionth time how fucking beautiful she is, even now. Still. Always has been. And it's okay to think that. It's still okay to think things are beautiful. She places her head against my chest, curling her body into mine.

"This okay?" She whispers, looking up at my face.

I just nod, and she closes her eyes. I ain't ready to say it yet, but I know how I feel about her now. I've known a long time, just didn't know what the hell it was. I'm still terrified of it. I hate that she don't know it, but it ain't like I gave her any reason to. I didn't tell her. She's asleep in no time at all, her breaths becoming slow and steady. I wrap my arms around her, remembering the night I'd spent in her cell before all hell broke loose.

I was a fucking mess. Nervous. I wasn't gonna stay, but she  _ asked _ me to. She wanted me there, so I stayed. I didn't think I'd be able to sleep at all, but I did. I fell asleep that night counting her breaths, so much closer than all the times I'd done the same fucking thing from the next cell over. Being this close to her again, touching her skin and feeling  _ something _ besides regret or guilt… I could stay like this forever, right here, with her.

-

Maggie's the first to wake, rising slowly to her feet, stretching and looking blearily around the room. Her eyes settle on me and Adrienne, a small smile playing on her lips as she approaches. I thought I'd feel uncomfortable. Caught doing some shit I shouldn't be. But I'm not. It feels right. I don't give a fuck who sees, I ain't letting this girl go.

"You should get some sleep," Maggie murmurs, sinking to the floor beside me.

"Yeah," I nod, knowing she's right. Don't mean I'm gonna listen.

"It's okay to rest now," she continues, eyeing something across the room.

I can't. The last time I let my guard down… I lost her sister. And the time before that, her dad and everything that's happened since then is on me. I follow her gaze, watching Sasha while she sleeps.

"He was tough," I remark, thinking of Ty.

"He was," Maggie agrees.

"So was she," I add. "She didn't know it, but she was."

Maggie stays silent. I understand. She ain't ready to talk about her yet. I ain't, neither, really, but she needed to hear it. That her sister wasn't weak. I remember the music box, lifting it from the floor as carefully as possible, not wanting to wake Adie. I offer the box to Maggie and she takes it, smiling sadly.

"The gearbox had some grit in it."

"Thank you," she says, getting to her feet.

She crosses over to Sasha, waking her gently. She's right. It's okay to rest now. I lean forward, shrugging out of my vest and placing it on the floor beside me. Adrienne stirs as I lay down, her eyes fluttering open.

"Stay," I murmur, closing my eyes, unable to hold them open.

And she does. She stays. Her head rests against my chest and, even though it's fucking ridiculous, I can't think of a single goddamn place I'd rather be right now, or ever again. I can keep going. This world ain't all bad as long as she's still in it.

*Adrienne's POV*

When I wake, I'm content. Hungry, still tired, sore… but happy. Daryl's arm is slung loosely over my body, my head still resting on his chest. I can hear his heartbeat, feel his warmth through his shirt. I could stay like this forever. I could. But I can't. I got shit to do, starting with figuring out what the hell happened to the disappearing herd from last night. I press my lips softly to Daryl's cheek, carefully slipping out from beneath his arm. I don't want to wake him. I'm unsuccessful.

"Hey," he mumbles tiredly, catching my hand in his.

"Hey," I echo softly.

"Where you goin'?" He questions, eyes still shut.

Fuck it. I'm not leaving this spot.

"Nowhere," I settle back in, burying my face in his neck.

"About damn time," Glenn's smug voice ruins the moment, Daryl and I springing upright, wide awake.

Glenn's eyeing us triumphantly. Daryl's ears have turned an alarming shade of fuchsia. I'm sure my cheeks match. The two of us get to our feet, avoiding direct eye contact with each other and everyone else. Michonne punches Glenn in the arm, not too hard but hard enough, and Glenn goes back to minding his own business, but it's too late. I glance at Daryl. He's snatched up his crossbow and is studying his bolts intently, ears still glowing crimson. Before anyone else can say anything to diffuse the awkward silence, Maggie and Sasha are at the door.

"Hey," Maggie says hesitantly, entering the barn, some guy trailing behind her, Sasha behind him. "Everyone… this is Aaron."

Immediately, all the guns are drawn, Daryl pushing past Aaron to check outside the barn, make sure no one's following them.

"We met him outside," Maggie explains. "He's by himself. We took his weapons and we took his gear."

"Pillaging," I blurt while Daryl pats Aaron down. "Right on."

"Hi," Aaron says, eyeing the guns.

Judith begins to cry in Rick's arms. He passes her off to Carl, who shushes her immediately. He's got a way with her, often the only one who can calm her when she's really upset.

"It's nice to meet you," Aaron says, moving towards Rick with his hand outstretched, stopping when several of us cock our weapons.

"You said he had a weapon?" Rick questions.

Maggie hands over a small pistol, which Rick examines and abruptly places in my hands. I tuck it into the back of my waistband.

"There somethin' you need?" He asks.

"He has a camp nearby," Sasha volunteers. "He wants us to audition for membership."

"Audition?" I scoff. "What, are we gonna tap dance our way in?"

"I wish there was another word," Aaron says ruefully. "Um, audition does make it sound like we're some sort of a dance troupe. That's only on Friday nights."

"You got outfits?" I question solemnly, unable to help myself.

Rick shoots me a look. Shut the fuck up, it says. Bite me, Rick. Poor guy's clearly terrified.

"Um, and it's not, it's not a camp," Aaron continues. "It's a community. I think you all would make valuable additions. But it, it's not my call. My job is to convince you all to follow me back home."

I exchange a glance with Rick. Is this guy serious?

"I know," Aaron says. "If I were you, I wouldn't go either. Not until I knew exactly what I was getting into. Sasha, can you hand Rick my pack?"

Sasha hesitates a moment, then strides towards Rick with Aaron's backpack. She pulls it off her back, handing it to Rick.

"Front pocket, there's an envelope," Aaron instructs, Rick unzipping the pack and producing a large mailer envelope. "There's no way I could convince you to come with me just by talking about our community. That's why I brought those. I apologize in advance for the picture quality. Uh, we just found an old camera store last-"

"Nobody gives a shit." Daryl interrupts.

"You're… absolutely 100% right," Aaron agrees, nodding as Rick pulls a set of grainy photos from the envelope.

"Holy shit…" I murmur, crouching beside Rick to get a closer look at them.

"That's the first picture I wanted to show you," Aaron announces proudly. "Because nothing I say about our community will matter unless you know you'll be safe."

The first picture is of a massive steel wall, reinforced with steel beams and wooden support posts. You could probably climb right up the supports, but a wall that high? They've gotta have watchmen, they'd see anyone coming from miles. Right?

"If you join us, you will be," Aaron continues. "Each panel in that wall is a 15 foot high, 12 foot wide slab of solid steel framed by cold-rolled steel beams and square tubing. Nothing, alive or dead, gets through that without our say-so."

Rick and I have risen to standing. His distrustful eyes are on Aaron. Mine are on Daryl. He's considering the idea. A wall like that… we would be safe. We would all be safe.

"Like I said, security is obviously important," Aaron says, watching us all exchange glances with each other. "In fact, there's only one resource more critical to our community's survival. The people. Together, we're strong. You can make us even stronger."

Rick and Michonne look at each other, Michonne arching an eyebrow. This is what she's been wanting all along, since before Terminus. Community. People. A  _ wall. _ But Rick… he's not buying it, flipping through the other pictures.

"The next picture you'll see is inside the gates," Aaron keeps trying to sell him, but Rick's now striding towards the man and I know he's in trouble. "Our community was first construc-"

Before he can finish the rest of his pitch, Rick hurls a fist at his head, knocking him unconscious.


	56. Amish or Some Shit

**Chapter 56**

"Jesus, Rick," I mutter, crouching beside Aaron and checking his pulse. "Did you have to hit 'im that hard?"

"So we're clear, that look wasn't a  _ 'let's attack that man' _ look," Michonne hisses. "It was a  _ 'he seems like an okay guy to me' _ look."

"We gotta secure him," Rick says simply. "Dump his pack. Let's see what this guy really is. Everybody else, we need eyes in every direction. They're comin' for us. We might not know how or when, but they are."

Daryl crouches beside me, binding Aaron's hands together.

"I don't know that beatin' 'im up was the right play, Rick," I point out, getting to my feet and scaling the steps to peek outside from the hayloft.

Holy shit… the scene outside is unreal. It looks like a tornado or a hurricane tore right through here. Massive trees ripped violently from the churned up earth, and the walkers… torn apart or impaled, all of 'em. We should be dead. But, somehow, the barn's still standing.  _ We  _ are still standing.

"Me and Sasha, we didn't see him," Maggie pipes up. "If he had wanted to hurt us, he could've."

"Anybody see anything?" Rick questions.

"Just a lotta places to hide," Glenn says.

"All right, keep looking," Rick orders.

"I can't see shit," I announce, stomping back down the stairs.

"What'd you find?" Rick questions, approaching Carl.

"Never seen a gun like that," Carl says, passing the bright orange gun he'd found in Aaron's pack to his father.

"That's a flare gun," I inform him, eyeing it over Rick's shoulder. "So either this guy's camp is real close by or he's got others outside."

"Still think I shouldn't've hit 'im?" Rick demands, stalking back over to the unconscious man.

"I think we could've  _ secured  _ him just fine without knockin' him out," I shrug.

Maggie places a cold cloth to Aaron's temple, and he comes to a few moments later, grinning.

"That's a hell of a right cross there, Rick," he chuckles.

"Sit him up," Rick commands.

"I think it's better if he-" Maggie starts.

"It's okay," Aaron insists, groaning.

"He's fine, sit him up," Rick repeats.

"You're being cautious," Aaron says reasonably, Michonne and Maggie helping him to a seated position. "I completely understand."

"How many of your people are out there?" Rick demands. "You have a flare gun. You have it to signal your people. How many of them are there?"

"Does it matter?" Aaron questions resignedly.

"Yes," Rick snaps. "Yes, it does."

"I mean, of course, it matters how many people are  _ actually _ out there, but does it matter how many people I  _ tell _ you are out there?" Aaron counters. "Because I'm, I'm pretty sure no matter what number I say… eight, thirty-two, four hundred and forty-four, zero… no matter what I say, you're not going to trust me."

"Well, it's hard to trust anyone who smiles after gettin' punched in the face," Rick snarks.

"How about a guy who leaves bottles of water for you in the road?" Aaron fires back.

Daryl's eyes snap to mine, alarmed.

"How long you people been followin' us?" He demands.

"Long enough to see that you practically ignore a pack of roamers on your trail," Aaron says, and I can't tell if he's impressed or incredulous. "Long enough to see that, despite a lack of food and water, you never turned on each other. You're  _ survivors. _ And you're people. Like I said, and I hope you won't punch me for saying it again, that  _ is _ the most important resource in the world."

Rick definitely looks like he's considering punching him again.

"How many others are out there?" He asks once again.

"One," Aaron admits, Rick shaking his head in disbelief. "I knew you wouldn't believe me. If it's not words, if it's not pictures, what would it take to convince you that this is for real? What if I drove you to the community? All of you? We leave now, we'll get there by lunch."

"I'm not sure how the sixteen of us are gonna fit in the car you and your  _ one _ friend drove down here in," Rick says pointedly.

"We drove separately," Aaron insists. "If we found a group, we wanted to be able to bring them all home. There's enough room for all of us."

"And you're parked just a couple miles away, right?" Carol asks sarcastically.

"East on Ridge Road, just after you hit route 16," Aaron confirms, either missing the sarcasm or just ignoring it entirely. "We wanted to get them closer, but then the storm came, blocked the road. We couldn't clear it."

"Yeah, you've really thought this through," Rick sneers.

"Rick, if I wanted to ambush you, I'd do it here," Aaron says pleadingly. "You know, light the barn on fire while you slept, pick you off as you ran out the only exit."

"Well, looks like we can't stay here," I announce, clapping Rick on the shoulder. "I'll go ch-"

"You will _ not, _ " Rick glares, not appreciating my lack of hostility towards Aaron.

"You can trust me," Aaron says.

"Adie and I will go check out the cars," Michonne pipes up.

"There aren't any cars," Rick says flatly.

"There's only one way to find out," Michonne counters. 

"We don't need to find out," Rick shakes his head.

"We  _ do _ , Rick," I say gently, trying to show him how seriously I'm taking this. "We keep on the way we've been…"

Rick throws his hands up, betrayal written all over his face. Guess he thought I'd be on his side. Joke's on him, I  _ am _ on his side. He just doesn't know it yet.

"You know what you know and you're sure of it," Michonne says calmly. "But I'm not."

"Me neither," Maggie steps in.

Rick shoots me a look, as though I'm single-handedly leading a mutiny against him. We've been out here too damn long. If we don't find somewhere to be, we'll die out here.

"We can't trust-" Rick starts.

"I don't," I interrupt, eyeing him. "I don't trust him. Hell, no. But I trust  _ us. _ You should, too."

"Your way is dangerous," Rick argues. "Mine isn't."

"Passing up someplace where we can live?" Michonne questions incredulously. "Where  _ Judith _ can live? That's pretty dangerous. We need to find out what this is. We can handle ourselves. So that's what we're gonna do."

"Then I will, too," Glenn volunteers. "I'll go."

"Abraham," Rick says defeatedly, coming to the realization he's been overruled.

"Yeah," Abraham nods. "I'll walk with 'em."

"Rosita?" Rick questions.

"Okay," she agrees, grabbing her weapon.

"If there's trouble, you got enough firepower?" Rick asks.

"We got what we got," Glenn sighs. 

"Adrienne, give Glenn that extra pistol," Rick orders.

"But I'm go-" I start to protest.

"You're not goin'," Rick cuts me off. "Give him the gun."

"And why not?" I glare at him, pulling the pistol from my waistband and placing it in Glenn's hand.

"I need you here," Rick says sharply. "You're our best at hand to hand and they need the guns."

I open my mouth to argue but he silences me with a raised hand.

"They need the ammo, we need the defense. You're stayin'. The walkies are outta juice," he addresses the group leaving while I seethe. "If you're not back in 60 minutes, we'll come. Which might be just what they want."

They leave and Rick turns towards the rest of us.

"If we're all in here, we're a target," he announces heavily.

"I got the area covered," Daryl says, already halfway out the door.

"All right, Adie, you're with him," Rick instructs. "The rest of you, groups of two, find somewhere safe within eyeshot."

I follow Daryl outside and into the woods, the two of us circling the perimeter of the barn under the cover of the trees.

"You think we can trust 'im?" He murmurs.

"I don't know," I sigh. "But I think it's worth the risk. If this is for real… we can't pass it up."

He nods thoughtfully. I take his hand in mine, lacing my fingers through his. It's impulsive and absolutely not what I should be focused on at all, but after last night… I just want to be close to him. As often as possible, as often as he'll let me, for as long as we're allowed. Because we're alive and I  _ can. _ He stares at our hands for a moment, but doesn't pull away. I smooth his hair from his eyes, and after a second he turns his gaze to meet mine.

"I don't trust him," I say. "Yet. Like I didn't trust Michonne or Abraham or you. Hell, I didn't trust  _ Rick _ at first. We need to be careful, but walkin' away without makin' sure would be a mistake."

I squeeze his hand before letting go and we keep walking in comfortable silence, he with his crossbow and I with my knife. No one's out here. Eventually, Michonne and the others come back with a hideous beige sedan and an RV packed with a metric fuck ton of canned goods. Enough food to last us a good month. We help them inside, stacking the food in a haphazard pyramid atop an old trunk. We all gather round, waiting for Rick's final decision. I sink to the floor. Daryl follows suit and, to my utter shock and happy disbelief, puts his arm around me.

"This?" Rick holds up a can of S'getti Rings. "This is ours now."

"There's more than enough," Aaron nods wearily.

"It's  _ ours _ whether or not we go to your camp," Rick amends.

"What do you mean?" Carl questions indignantly. "Why wouldn't we go?"

"If he were lying, or if he wanted to hurt us," Michonne replies calmly. "But he isn't and he doesn't. We  _ need _ this. So we're going, all of us."

I make a mental note to tell Rick I think Michonne is wife material later.

"Somebody say something if they feel differently," Michonne urges, eyeing us all in turn.

"I dunno man," Daryl pipes up from beside me. "This barn smells like horse shit."

I snort, turning into him and kissing his shoulder.

"Yeah," Rick nods, considering as he turns back to Aaron. "We're goin'. So where are we goin'? Where's your camp?"

"Well, every time I've done this, I've been behind the wheel," Aaron hedges. "Driving recruits back. I, I believe you're good people. I've bet my life on it. I'm just… not ready to bet my friends' lives just yet."

"You're not driving." Michonne says flatly, striding towards Aaron. "So if you wanna get home, you'll have to tell us how."

"Go north on Route 16," Aaron says.

"And then?" Michonne prompts.

"I'll tell you when we get there."

"We'll take 23 north," Rick announces. "You'll give us directions from there."

"That's… I don't know how else to say it, that's a bad idea," Aaron argues. "We've cleared 16. It'll be faster."

"We'll take 23," Rick says stubbornly. "We leave at sundown."

"What?" I demand, squinting to see if Rick suddenly looks as unfathomably stupid as he sounds. "You sure you wanna do this at  _ night? _ "

"Look, I know it's dangerous," he says, attempting to soothe us. "But it's better than riding up to the gates during the day. If it isn't safe, we need to get gone before they know we're there."

"We can't know that until we  _ are _ there," I snap impatiently. "Especially if we can't see anything because it's the middle of the goddamn night, for Christ's sake."

"No one is going to hurt you," Aaron insists. "You're trying to protect your group, but you're putting them in danger."

"Tell me where the camp is, we'll leave right now," Rick bargains, but Aaron declines and Rick turns back to address us. "It's gonna be a long night. Eat. Get some rest if you can."

Rick stomps from the barn, presumably to check out the vehicles Michonne and the others rolled up in. I get to my feet, moving to follow, fully prepared to fight Rick on this, but Michonne stops me.

"Let me," she says simply, resting a hand on my shoulder.

"Fine," I sigh, heading up to the hayloft instead.

I perch myself up there, fuming. I know he's trying to keep us safe. But this  _ isn't _ safe. This could damn well get us all killed. Driving off with some stranger in the middle of the night. What kind of logic is that? Suddenly, a can of fruit cocktail is thrust into my view. Daryl. Stealthy bastard. I didn't hear him coming.

"You need to eat," he grunts, taking a seat beside me, slicing the tops off two cans with his knife and offering one to me.

"Thank you," I say, taking the can and plucking a syrupy chunk of pineapple from inside.

I hum appreciatively. I  _ loathed _ canned fruit before, but now? This just might be the best thing I've ever tasted. I pull out an unnaturally pink cherry next, fighting the urge to just inhale the entire can in one go. Daryl's staring at me, chewing thoughtfully. I try to ignore his eyes on me while I eat, but it's damn difficult. Still, I work my way through the can until there's nothing left but the cherries. Best for last. I drink the juice, then pop the cherries into my mouth two at a time.

I lick my fingers clean and place the empty can on its side, rolling it into the corner of the loft, Daryl following suit before placing his vest on the floor behind him and laying back. His eyes flutter closed. I draw my knees to my chest, watching him.

"You gon' lay down or jus' watch like a creep?" He questions, eyes still closed.

"Watch like a creep," I tell him solemnly.

He opens one eye and scoffs, taking my hand in his. I chuckle and lay down beside him, placing my head on his chest and forgetting all about my anger at Rick. Exhaustion takes over and I'm asleep in no time at all.

*Daryl's POV*

"Daryl!" Rick barks, startling me from sleep. "Adie, let's go."

Shit. Adie sits up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. I get to my feet and pull her up, the two of us descending the stairs to help load the food and what little else we possess into the RV. Night has fallen and we're packed up and ready to go. This ain't a good idea. I can feel it.

"Adie, Glenn, Michonne, you're comin' with me in the car," Rick announces. "Everyone else, you're with Daryl in the RV."

I nod, wishing like hell Adie was coming with me. I ain't gonna argue, though. Rick looks like he's one more disagreement from losing his shit.

"Be safe," Adrienne murmurs, wrapping her arms around me.

I watch as she slips into the backseat with Aaron and Michonne. Man, this is a fuckin' stupid idea. Carol sidles up to me, following my gaze.

"Hey," she says softly, squeezing my hand. "She'll be fine. We're gonna be right behind them."

"Yeah," I grunt, unconvinced.

*Adrienne's POV*

"They're still right behind us, Adie," Glenn says, glancing amusedly at me in the rearview as I whip around in my seat to make sure Daryl's still there for the dozenth time.

I flip him off and he makes a face at me, Michonne chuckling.

"Now, kids, play nice," she quips.

Rick is rifling through the glovebox, I suspect more to keep his hands busy than anything else. He produces a stack of license plates. That seems a little… getting away with murder 101.

"Oh, uh… I'm trying to collect all 50 states," Aaron explains. "Put them all on a wall in my house."

"You have a  _ house? _ " I ask incredulously.

"Mhmm," he nods, glancing meaningfully at the envelope of photos in his lap. "See for yourself."

I snatch the envelope and slide the photos out, holding them aloft between me and Michonne while I flip through each of them. The wall, several houses... it looks like the wall was built around an existing subdivision, an entire neighborhood. Something's weird about these pictures, though. Michonne's brow furrows and I know she sees it, too. All his talk about people being a valuable resource, yet there's not a single picture with an actual person in it.

"Why don't you have any pictures of your people?" Michonne demands.

"Oh, I took a picture of the whole group, but I didn't get the exposure right," Aaron explains. "When I tried to develop it later, it just-"

"Did you ask him the questions?" Michonne asks, eyeing Rick who shakes his head.

"No," he says flatly, still unhappy with our little road trip with a stranger.

"How many walkers have you killed?" Michonne asks quietly, turning back to Aaron.

"I'm sorry, what?" He counters, confused.

"Answer the question." I snap.

"How many?" Michonne repeats.

"I don't know, a lot."

"How many people?" Michonne asks the second question.

"Two," Aaron says, face turning hard.

"Why?" I demand.

"Because they tried to kill me," he says solemnly.

That's fair. We've killed for less. I'm ready to accept his answers when Rick pulls out some kind of weird listening device, holding it up for us to see.

"You were listening to us?!" Glenn asks, horrified.

"I already said I was watching you," Aaron says obviously. "Yes, I was listening. That's how I-"

"Who else?" I hiss. "Who else was listenin'?"

"His people could have one, too," Rick snarls. "They could've heard our plan, this isn't safe!"

But we're about to have a much bigger problem.

"Glenn, look out!" I cry, but it's too late.

"Shit!" Glenn snarls, plowing right into the massive herd shambling about the road.

"Glenn!" Rick shouts when Glenn speeds up, mowing down walker after walker instead of braking.

"They were right behind us!" He hollers. "They woulda hit us! Now they can get out."

We continue down the road, corpses splattering like water balloons as we hit them, coating the car with blood and bits of dead flesh. Finally, we break through the other side and Glenn brings the car to a screeching halt. Rick, Glenn, Michonne and I hurl ourselves from the vehicle, leaving Aaron bound in the backseat.

"I don't see 'em!" Rick shouts over the snarls of the approaching walkers.

"No, they're gone," Glenn announces, having scrambled onto the roof of the car to see over the herd. "They got away."

"We need to get outta here!" I snap. "Now!"

"All right, we'll circle back and find 'em," Rick says. "Let's go."

"They're okay?" Aaron asks frantically as we all clamber back into the car.

"Yeah," Michonne sighs.

"All right, we can take a left a couple of miles up 23," Rick announces, eyeing the map. "Jefferson Avenue."

"Jefferson Avenue," Glenn echoes, turning the keys in the ignition.

"We gotta get outta here!" Aaron frets.

The car won't start. The engine sputters pathetically, refusing to roar back to life.

"Come on," Glenn coaxes.

"We gotta get outta here," Aaron repeats, eyeing the walkers through the blood streaked windows, inching closer and closer.

"Let me see what I can see," Michonne says, jumping out of the car.

"Christ," I mutter, leaping out after her to cover her back while she yanks mangled body parts from the intake.

The engine continues to sputter. We're not going anywhere, not in this thing. Before she and I can return to the car, there's a red spark in our periphery. A flare, lighting up the sky near a water tower just beyond the trees. What the hell? No way they got that far that fast, even with Daryl at the wheel. That's gotta be Aaron's other guy, signalling him.

"Did you see that?" Michonne demands, just as Aaron bursts from the car, knocking her over and tearing off into the woods.

I take off after him, Michonne on my heels, all of us flying towards where the flare went up.

"Leave him!" Rick hollers. "We need to find our people!"

"You think  _ Daryl _ missed that flare?" I snarl, wheeling around.

"They saw that flare, they'll think we shot it!" Michonne agrees. "This is how we find 'em!"

Rick seems to accept this, he and Glenn following us into the trees. I push myself harder than I ever have before, legs propelling me several yards ahead of the others in a matter of seconds. Then I hear the gunshots. I circle back to discover Michonne and Rick, caught in a throng of walkers.

"Where's Glenn?!" I cry, plunging my knife into each walker that approaches, ducking and dodging to avoid teeth while clearing a path for Rick and Michonne.

"We thought he was right behind you!" Michonne shouts breathlessly, she and Rick catching up with me.

"I thought he was with you!" I inform her, the three of us shooting at and cutting down the walkers as we fight our way through the woods in the dark.

"Glenn!" Rick roars, firing his last round. "Glenn! He's gotta be somewhere around here!"

"Rick, the flare gun!" I cry, more walkers upon us.

He pulls the flare gun from his back pocket and fires it into the nearest walker, its head lighting up like a firework. Just like that, we have enough light to see them clearly. We can take 'em. Maybe. We're damn sure gonna try. We take down a couple each before a barrage of automatic gunfire erupts behind us, walkers dropping like flies. Michonne ducks as Rick grabs my arm and forces me down with him until the fire ceases, all the walkers motionless on the ground. The three of us leap to our feet, whirling to find Glenn and Aaron standing there, Aaron having been freed from his binds.

"If you really wanna tie me up again, that's fine, but hurry up," he says, dropping his gun, hands raised.

"There's no time," Rick huffs, snatching the weapon from the ground. "We're goin' that way."

The five of us take off towards the road, Route 16, and, just as Aaron had told us hours ago, it's been cleared. The moment we step onto the asphalt, Rick turns on Aaron.

"Where are they?" He snarls.

"I don't know," Aaron snaps.

"If this is a trap to get us back where you want us, your people are gonna die tonight," Rick promises. "Flare was towards the water tower."

We shuffle along up the road. Then a sharp whistle pierces the air.

"That's Daryl!" I hiss, picking up the pace.

I break into a run, following the sound into a small alleyway adjacent to the water tower. I hear the whistle once more and echo the tune, Daryl stepping out of the shadows into view. I'm flooded with relief as the others spill out of a building and into the alleyway. I hurl myself at Daryl and he catches me, his arms wrapping around me protectively.

"Is everyone okay?" I question, pulling away and taking in the downed walkers littering the ground while Aaron frantically calls for someone named Eric.

"Yeah, everyone's okay," Daryl assures me, tucking my hair behind my ears. "You all right?"

"Yeah, we're fine," I nod, curls falling immediately forward again.

We all file inside, Aaron and Rick disappearing into a back room. Daryl quietly fills me in on what happened. They saw the flare go up, assumed it was us and when they got here, they found a guy named Eric stuck under the car in the alley, with a broken ankle, surrounded by walkers. They helped him, Maggie fixed him up, and they stuck around, figuring we'd seen the flare, too, and were on our way.

"We couldn't get the car to start again after drivin' through the herd," I explain. "Walker guts in the intake. We had to leave it and haul ass through the woods til we hit 16."

Daryl's examining me, clutching my hands in his, his eyes searching my body, my bloody clothes.

"Hey," I murmur, his eyes snapping to mine. "I'm okay, I promise. Not a scratch on me."

He nods, eyes welling with emotion, his lip trembling. He was worried. About  _ me. _ My heart swells just a little at the realization.

"Excuse me," Aaron says, emerging from the back followed by Rick. "Excuse me, everyone. Thank you. You saved Eric. I owe you, all of you. And I will make sure that debt is paid in full when we get to our community."

"Could you  _ please _ stop calling it your community?" I blurt. "Makes it sound like y'all are a polygamist compound or… or, I dunno, Amish or some shit."

This elicits laughter from the majority of the group, but I'm so serious. Community makes it sound creepy.

"When we get to Alexandria," Aaron amends with a smile. "Now, I'm not sure about you, but I'd rather not do any more driving tonight. Um, maybe we can hit the road tomorrow morning."

"That sounds fine," Rick assents. "But if we're stayin' here for the night, you're sleepin' over there."

"You really think we gotta do that?" Maggie asks, exasperated.

"It's the safe play," Rick insists. "We don't know you."

"The only way you're gonna stop me from being with him right now is by shooting me," Aaron says firmly, then it clicks.

I glance at Daryl questioningly, and he nods with a small smile. Eric is Aaron's partner. Oh. The desperation makes sense now. They love each other. Aaron moves to push past Rick, but Glenn stops him.

"Rick, he told us where the camp is," he says calmly. "And he really was only traveling with one other person."

"They're not armed," I point out.

"One of them's got a broken ankle," Glenn continues. "I want us to be safe, too. I can't give up everything else. I know what I said, but it does matter."

"All right," Rick concedes after a few moments, Aaron practically sprinting back to be with his boyfriend as we all hunker down for the night.

I take Daryl by the hand and lead him behind a tall, wide shelf, where we can sleep and not worry about prying eyes. He doesn't seem to mind the touching so much anymore but, just like at the prison, he's more relaxed when we're alone and I like that. He lays his crossbow on the floor beside us and I curl into him, falling asleep almost the instant his arms wrap around my body.


	57. That Costs Extra

**Chapter 57**

"Leave 'em!" Carol's whispered hiss breaks into my sleeping state. "Glenn!"

"It's a Kodak moment!" Glenn's retort pulls me from my slumber.

I'm tangled up with Daryl, his arms firmly around me, our legs entwined. I groan, opening my eyes to Glenn's smug grin. Oh, my god. Why is he always here to burst my bubble?

"Go away, Glum," I mumble, Daryl stirring beneath me.

"Ain't you got someplace else to be?" He mutters, the two of us disentangling from one another.

"Yeah, actually," Glenn points out. "We all do, let's go."

We pile into the RV and the old rust bucket from the alley and we're off. Rick, Michonne, Judith, and Carl are in the car. Daryl and I are in the RV with the others, Abraham driving. We're gonna get there. I sit between Carol and Daryl, knees pulled to my chest. I'm content.

"Seven-card stud," Eugene announces, dealing cards between him, Glenn, Tara, and Maggie. "Stares 'n squares. It's aces, cuatros, neeners, 'n two-eyed jacks."

"So there's 14 wild cards?" Tara demands incredulously. "Are, are you serious?"

"Serious as two copulatin' dogs," Eugene confirms.

"That's disgusting," I chuckle, settling in to watch the game.

-

"Abraham," Rosita says, something in her tone piquing my interest. "Look."

I glance up, looking out the window. DC, still standing, and visible from our position on the highway. Abraham… he's been trying to get here since almost the start. Eugene isn't a doctor, but DC was the only thing that kept Abe holding on all this time. He finally made it. He's staring, eyes teary when he practically beams at Rosita.

"Eyes on the road, champ," she grins.

"How much longer we got?" He questions.

"Looks like we're a little over halfway there," she informs him, consulting the map. "Why?"

"We can make it," he sighs, relief lacing his tone. "We can make it."

Seems he spoke too soon, though. Not thirty minutes later, we're pulled over, the RV having sputtered to a halt.

"Can't win," Abe snarls, smacking the RV in frustration while Glenn examines the inner workings, and I can't help but think of Dale in this same position nearly two years ago. "Might as well paint it red, put a ladder on it."

I snort, remembering the fire truck we'd been traveling in for several miles after Grady. It, too, had died on us, quitting before we'd reached our destination or any place even resembling safety.

"All we need is another battery," Glenn assures him.

"Where the hell are we gonna find another battery?" He demands.

Glenn and I exchange a glance, grinning. We know exactly where to find another battery.

"Right over here," Glenn informs him, clapping the irate man on the back and following me around to the side of the RV.

He lifts the lid to a compartment just inside the RV doors, in exactly the same place it had been in the Winnebago, revealing two extra batteries nestled inside.

"How'd you know those were there?" Abe questions in disbelief.

"Old friend," I smile sadly, stepping aside.

"Come on," Glenn murmurs, prompting Abe to take the wheel while he swaps the batteries. 

A few minutes later, the engine roars to life, a chorus of cheers rising from the group as we pile back into the vehicles and get going again. All in all, this is the least eventful road trip we've ever taken. In what feels like almost no time at all, we've reached Alexandria. We come to a stop just outside the wall, waiting for Rick to exit his vehicle before the rest of us depart from the RV. I'm nervous.

"You all right?" Daryl murmurs as we approach the gate.

"It's just… I really need this to be what he says it is." I sigh.

He nods, and we stop several feet from the gate. Aaron and Eric step inside first, evidently to announce our arrival and get Eric to their infirmary. Suddenly, something moves in the trees. We all whirl around, aiming our weapons in the direction of the noise, but it's just a damn possum. Daryl fires a bolt into it, snatching it up by the tail as the gate slides open, revealing Aaron and some guy.

"We brought dinner," Daryl quips, the kid at the gate with Aaron staring at us all in terror.

"It's okay," Aaron soothes. "Come on in, guys."

We all hesitantly step through the gate, and I feel uneasy as it clangs shut behind us. We're trapped, there's no going back now.

"Before we take this any further, I need you all to turn over your weapons," Aaron's friend insists. "Stay, you hand 'em over."

"We don't know if we  _ want _ to stay," Rick counters.

"It's, it's fine, Nicholas," Aaron intervenes.

"If we were gonna use 'em, we'd've started already," Rick points out.

"Let them talk to Deanna first," Aaron suggests.

"Who's Deanna?" Abe questions warily.

"She knows everything you'd wanna know about this place," Aaron says vaguely.

"That's not cryptic at all," I mutter.

*Daryl's POV*

Deanna Monroe is the leader of this place. It's time for our  _ 'auditions'. _ Rick was first. Then Maggie, Carol, Glenn, Rosita, Tara, Carl together with Judith. One by one, they've been taken into Deanna's place, and none of 'em have come back yet. Separating us so we don't know what to expect, I guess. I don't like it. Adie don't, neither. She's pacing, eyebrows furrowed, glaring icily at the few townspeople gawking at our group. Ain't a damn one said nothin'. They're just staring.

"Daryl."

Adie freezes in her tracks as Aaron appears at the front door, grinning and motioning me forward. I can feel her eyes on my back as I follow Aaron inside. I'm nervous. I dunno what the hell this is. I don't want to be here. Aaron leads me to a large room, occupied by a woman who don't look much bigger than a 12 year old. She smiles at me and I'm tired of her already.

"I'm Deanna Monroe," she informs me, glancing at the dead possum dangling from my hand. "You are?"

"Daryl," I grunt, taking in the furnishings that must have cost a fucking fortune. "Dixon."

"Do you mind if I film our conversation?"

I glance at the camera set up on a tripod behind the sofa and shrug. Ain't like I got a choice.

"Were you a hunter before?" She questions, nodding at the possum. "Or is that something you learned surviving out there?"

"Been huntin' most of my life," I mumble, looking anywhere but at the woman in front of me.

I'm drawn to a blue and white ceramic tray on the coffee table. There ain't no use for this kinda shit these days. Hell, there wasn't before. It's full of little tumble stones. Who the hell even has this shit anymore? Still, I reach out to mess with them. Just to feel them in my hand, all cool, smooth surfaces, like marbles or polished magnets.

"You're welcome to sit, Daryl," Deanna tells me, and I drop the stones, feeling like I've been caught doing something bad. "I won't bite."

Won't bite? Ain't that kinda fucked up to say now? I guess she probably don't realize that, though. By the looks of this place, and the few people I've seen in it so far, they've had to have been here from close to the start. She ain't got a clue. Or maybe it's just her idea of a joke.

"Yeah, I'm all right," I decline, stepping away from the damn tumble stones and staring up at the ceiling.

"Daryl, do you want to be here?"

The hell kinda question is that? No, I don't wanna fuckin' be here. Everything about this place screams I ain't good enough. All high ceilings and hardwood floors and not a single damn hole in the walls. No busted windows or doors. I don't belong here. Not before, not now. I'm a fucking joke to these people. What, now that it don't cost nothin', I can just waltz into a place like this and call it mine? 

"The boy 'n the baby," I mutter. "They deserve a roof. I guess."

If this place is safe. If these people ain't up to nothin'. If my people stay, I stay. That don't mean I gotta like it.

*Adrienne's POV*

I'm last. I'm  _ last. _ One by one, my people have been led from my sight and not a single one have returned. I don't know where they are. And I'm alone now. I can feel the panic welling in my guts, ready to seize hold of-

"Adrienne."

Aaron's back. It's finally my turn. He leads me into the house, down a short hallway and into a living room, where I'm promptly seated and introduced. Deanna is a tiny woman, maybe 5 feet even, in her late fifties, early sixties.

"I'm Deanna Monroe," she says pleasantly.

"Adrienne Blake," I mutter, crossing my arms in front of me

"Do you mind if I film our talk?"

"Somehow I doubt I have a choice," I scoff, eyeing the video camera -already on, mind you- set up on a tripod behind the sofa with disdain.

"We're about transparency here," she informs me vaguely. "How long have you been out there?"

"Since the start," I tell her shortly.

"And did you know any of the others before?" She questions, eyeing me like I'm the most fascinating subject she's ever laid eyes on. "How did you all find each other?"

"We didn't know each other before," I tell her hesitantly, not sure how much to give away. "Some of us met in Atlanta right around the beginning, others we've just… picked up along the way."

"You seem very close," she observes.

"Yeah. We've been through a lot together," I point out. "We're family."

"I was a congressperson," she announces abruptly. "Ohio, 15th district. You?"

Great. A politician.

"I… I didn't have a steady job," I admit, shame coloring my cheeks. "I was a cashier for a few years. Bars on the weekends, coffee shops."

I hope she'll just assume I'd bar tended, served drinks. I'm terrified she'll ask me to sing for her if she finds out I'm a musician. I don't want to. Luckily, she leaves it alone, changing the subject once more.

"I see. How old are you?" She questions benignly.

"I'm… I was 27 when this all started, so I'm... wait, what month is it?"

"September, the 17th," Deanna replies. "2012."

"I'm 29," I tell her, feeling much older than that.

"Where are you from?"

Didn't I just tell her?

"Atlanta."

I must not have been able to disguise how stupid I thought that question was, because she laughs.

"Originally," she clarifies. "Your accent is the only one like it in your group."

"I was born in DC," I tell her. "Grew up in Falls Church, then moved to Atlanta, but my mama was from New Orleans. We spent a lotta time there before."

"New Orleans," she muses, eyes bright. "That's one place I've never been. I always thought I'd like to see Bourbon Street."

"Bourbon Street was great, if you were lookin' for hookers 'n booze," I blurt before I can stop myself.

She chuckles, for some reason delighted at my rudeness.

"How long have you known Rick Grimes?" She asks, changing the subject.

"Since Atlanta, maybe a month or two after the turn," I reply.

"Do you trust him?" She questions, leaning forward slightly.

"Yes."

"Can I trust him?"

"Do you plan on hurtin' any of us?"

"No."

"You can trust him."

"You think highly of him," she notes, and I nod. "Even though he's killed people?"

"Ma'am, most of us have killed people," I meet her gaze, she doesn't seem fazed in the slightest. "I've killed people. I don't regret it."

"Why is that?"

"Why'd I do it or why don't I regret it?"

"Both."

"Sometimes… sometimes it's the only way to protect the people you love," I murmur softly. "Have you been here the whole time? Behind the wall?"

"My family and I were trying to get back to Ohio," she tells me, something like sadness crossing her face. "So I could help my district manage the crisis. And, uh… the army stopped us on a back road and directed us here. They were supposed to come later. They didn't. But there were supplies here, and we made the best of it. There was this huge shopping mall being built nearby, and my husband, Reg, is a professor of architecture. He got the first plates up with our sons. And after a few weeks, more people arrived and we had help. We had a community."

"In Atlanta, the army was droppin' napalm in the streets," I inform her. "They were in helicopters, tanks, just… just gunnin' down anything that moved. Livin', dead, in between, it didn't matter."

She doesn't respond to this, the only indication she'd heard what I'd said being a fractional raise of her eyebrows. I fall silent for a few moments, eyes drawn to a tiny telescope sitting on a shelf. My dad had one just like it.

_ Your picture's gonna be in the stars, too, Adie Bee. I know it. _

"You like that?" She questions, following my gaze. "My son, Aiden, found it in one of the other houses. It's broken."

She chuckles to herself, sighing contentedly.

"You're lucky," I announce, looking her directly in the eye. "Surrounded by walls, in here. Out there? With the world the way it is now? We've met the worst kinds of people. Murderers, cannibals,  _ monsters. _ You kill or you die, or your family dies. It's not a hard decision to make."

"Do you feel that everyone in your group wants to be here?" She asks, once more changing the subject so quickly I can't quite process the question immediately.

Do I think everyone in my group wants to be here? It feels like a loaded question. Like she's already got an idea in mind of who may or may not want to stay. I think of Daryl, what he'd said that first night inside the prison.

_ I ain't sleepin' in no cage. _

"I… I think we all want to be together, wherever we are, ma'am," I reply firmly. "A place like this after being out there so long, after everything we've seen… I didn't think this was possible, I don't think any of us did. It's gonna be an adjustment. But it's an adjustment we need to make, and if this place is what y'all say it is… we will. We all will."

"Thank you," she says earnestly. "For your honesty."

She shakes my hand then shepherds me outside, escorting me around back to where my people stand huddled around a large rolling cart. I feel an enormous sense of relief upon seeing them all here, in one piece, practically bounding down the stairs to stand beside Daryl. That relief goes right out the window when we're informed that yes, we will, indeed, be required to relinquish our guns.

"They're still your guns," Deanna assures us. "You can check them out whenever you go beyond the wall. But inside here, we store them for safety."

Carol approaches the cart timidly, making quite the production out of placing her weapons upon it, and it's all I can do not to roll my eyes. She's putting on a hell of an act for Deanna. Frightened little mouse. She doesn't want these people to know what she's capable of. She deserves a damn oscar for her performance, but it reminds me of when Ed was alive and a loud sneeze would startle the bejeezus out of her.

"Should've brought another bin," Olivia, the quiet, heavyset woman in charge of inventory laughs nervously.

Something about this place makes me uneasy. It's too perfect.

*Daryl's POV*

I hate this place. Fancy fuckin' compound for the filthy rich, complete with a solid steel wall to gate us in. I'm sitting on the porch of one of the houses we've been told is ours, cleaning the possum I'd caught earlier while Adie nervously paces the length of the patio, her body coiled and tense. Rick is inside, getting a haircut. A goddamn  _ haircut. _ Some chick named Jessie showed up at the door about twenty minutes ago with a basket full of supplies to give to Rick and, despite my general discontent here, even I have to admit it'll be nice to wipe my ass with actual toilet paper again.

Adie's already walked through both the houses, hissing words like  _ 'exorbitant' _ and  _ 'gross', _ which strikes me as somewhat funny coming from a girl who, according to Glenn at least, grew up loaded. The right side of the tracks. Something tells me she resents this place more than I do for that. She had money, but she wasn't any better off for it, not really.

"There's a fuckin' grill," she mutters, smacking the offending object as she passes it for the umpteenth time. "Who the hell has a _grill?_ "

She continues to pace, grumbling quietly to herself. Something about  _ too perfect. A fuckin' grill. Porch furniture!  _ Her dismay at our current surroundings makes me feel just a little less alone.

"Holy shit," she blurts, her sudden exclamation startling me.

She's staring slack jawed at Rick, now showered and clean shaven. Ain't really a holy shit moment for me, but it is different. He ain't looked like this in a while, not even back in Atlanta.

"It's so lifelike," she breathes, poking at his face.

"Knock it off, Adrienne," Rick mutters, cheeks coloring slightly as he bats the cackling woman's hands away. "Shower's yours next, if you want it. Jessie dropped off clothes."

Her eyes widen and she damn near sprints inside. We ain't seen a working shower since the prison fell. Seems I'm about the only one who don't give a shit. I ain't trying to prove nothin' to these people, hell do I need to shower for? Carl and Carol, also freshly showered, head off to check out the second house, Rick and I walking the perimeter of the first. There ain't nothin' wrong with this place. Maybe that's why I hate it. Carol meets us on the strip of grass separating the two houses, grinning in that weird way she's been doing since we got here.

"They're right next to each other, but…" she trails off, shaking her head.

"They took our weapons and now they're splitting us up," Rick finishes, nodding.

"Yup," I agree.

"Yeah," Rick says thoughtfully. "We'll all be stayin' in the same house tonight."

*Adrienne's POV*

We're all sleeping in the living room in the bigger house tonight. Honestly, even with all of us crammed in here, it's more space than we've had in I don't know how long, and I can't remember the last time I felt this clean. The bathroom had been fully stocked, and I scrubbed from head to toe. I'd even brushed my teeth. Like, with toothpaste. It's surreal. Jessie, a blonde hairdresser I'd taken an instant dislike to, had guessed pretty accurately on my size and the jeans and tank top she'd left for me fit nicely. I step into the living room, zeroing in on Daryl and joining him atop the coffee table we'd shoved up against the wall near one of the windows.

"Hey," I greet him, pulling my knees to my chest.

"Hey," he echoes.

"Smell my hair," I command, leaning close.

"What?" He questions, tense and indignant as he backs away slightly.

"Smell my hair," I repeat, waving my hands around my head in a ridiculous attempt to waft the mild scent into his face.

"Hm," he grunts, eyeing me curiously.

"Does it bother you?" I question nonchalantly.

"Nah," he says softly. "It's nice."

"I'm pretty sure it's horse shampoo."

He scoffs, chuckling softly and relaxing beside me as Michonne finally graces us with her presence, sighing happily.

"How long was I in there for?" She questions.

"20 minutes," Rick informs her.

"God, I could not stop brushing," she says, tilting her head as she catches sight of Rick's face. "Huh. I've never… I've never seen your face like that."

"That's what I felt," Rick mutters. "Before and after."

"Don't poke it, he hates that," I announce, eliciting a giggle from the clearly smitten Michonne.

Rick goes to leave the room, but Michonne catches him and they have a hushed discussion. I turn my attention back to Daryl, who's typical still water silence is growing louder and louder. He seems anxious.

"You all right?" I question, watching him chew his lip.

"I dunno," he mutters, eyes far away.

"I don't remember any of this bein' here before," I muse.

"You grew up around here?"

"Sort of," I sigh, wrapping my arms around my legs and resting my chin on my knees. "I grew up about a half hour's drive north of here, just outside DC. We used to go for drives out here, to get away from the city. I remember it bein' mostly just farmland, but that was 20 years ago."

Daryl just grunts his acknowledgment. I don't know how to say it out loud, but I do miss those drives. I miss being little, I miss the simplicity of being a kid. Of getting excited over things like cows and horses and fields full of sunflowers that seemed to go on forever, stretching to the ends of the earth and then some.

"I don't know how I feel about all this yet," I admit quietly. "It's a bit… much. And they're just givin' it away?"

I shake my head in disbelief.

"Sum'n like that," Daryl nods, dropping his chin to my hair and sniffing. "It's got better smells, though."

I flush in pleasure, settling into his side. He hasn't showered yet, but I don't mind resting my head on his shoulder anyway. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about the potential privacy this place offers. Beds behind locked doors, in particular... but Daryl's never indicated he'd be interested in that, and I feel embarrassed now even thinking about it.

"My whole apartment from before could've fit in this room," I observe, clearing my throat and taking in the open space, the soaring ceilings. "Almost twice."

Still, it's a shack compared to the house I'd grown up in. My parents came from old money. The Blakes have been in the political game since before they left ye olde Ireland, and the Devereaux fortune came from Devereaux Distilleries, which came from a bunch of my boozy ancestors taking advantage of prohibition in The Big Easy. My family's wealth made both my parents -and me, by proxy- millionaires before they were adults, and I'd benefited from it, growing up in a historic plantation home easily five times the size of this place. Even when I was little, it seemed like a hell of a lot more space than a family of three needed.

A sharp knock sounds at the door, startling me from my reverie. Rick answers it, revealing Deanna Monroe herself on the other side. Daryl's on his feet immediately, shielding me protectively.

"Rick, I-" she starts, then stops abruptly, staring at his face. "Wow."

Rick groans, uncomfortable with the amount of attention his recently unearthed face is receiving.

"Don't poke it," I advise. "He hates that."

Daryl snorts, Michonne chuckling as Rick shoots me a glare over his shoulder.

"I didn't know what was under there," Deanna says, surprised. "Listen, I don't mean to interrupt, I just wanted to stop by and see how you were all settling."

She stops to take us all in, eyes lingering on each of our faces as she glances around the room we've dismantled. Couch cushions, blankets, throw pillows, and sleeping bags litter the floor. We'd pushed all the furniture aside, creating a large space in the middle of the room to sleep. There are beds, enough for everyone if a few of us double up, but… it's too much. There's gotta be a catch. We're safer together.

"Oh, my," she breathes. "Staying together. Smart."

"No one said we couldn't," Rick points out, almost defensively.

"You said you're a family," Deanna says indulgently and Daryl resumes his position beside me, evidently deciding he's safe to take a seat. "That's what you said. Absolutely amazing to me how people with completely different backgrounds and nothing in common can become that. Don't you think?"

"Everybody said you gave 'em jobs," Rick says.

Not everyone. Most of us. Carol's gonna be some kind of meals on wheels for the elderly or something and Abe's been given a place on the construction crew. Some of us, though, Daryl and me included, were passed over.

"Mhmm," Deanna nods. "Yeah. Part of this place. Looks like the communists won after all."

"Well, you didn't give me one," Rick says, chuckling.

"I have," she counters, eyes gleaming mischievously. "I just haven't told you yet. Same with Michonne. I'm closing in on something for Sasha, working something out for Adrienne… and I'm just trying to figure Mr. Dixon out, but I will."

Daryl turns away uncomfortably, staring out the window.  _ Figure Mr. Dixon out. _ Well. Good luck with that.

"You look good," Deanna tells Rick, turning to leave as quickly as she'd come.

"Well," I sigh, getting to my feet and shaking out a blanket. "If all else fails, Rick, maybe you can just wine 'n dine the boss into submission."

"Shut up," Rick grunts, turning red and hurling a couch pillow at my head.

"Make me, you handsome devil," I crow, fanning myself dramatically with one hand, Michonne, Carol, and Carl collapsing into a fit of giggles.

"Hilarious," Rick grumbles, winging a throw pillow at my head, not quite as unamused as he'd have me believe.

Without much further discussion, we put the lights out and everyone hunkers down for the night. Daryl lays back on the coffee table and I stretch out on the floor beside him. Light snores eventually begin to fill the room, but I can't sleep. It feels bizarre, being in an actual house. I want to believe it, but I just can't shake the feeling that the rug is about to be yanked from beneath our feet.  _ Again. _

Before I can dwell too much more on that, though, Daryl's hand drops down, his fingers searching the dark for mine. I take his hand, lacing my fingers through his and pressing a kiss to the back of his palm. He squeezes gently before releasing my hand, and I miss the contact immediately. Still, the gesture is comforting. I'm not alone. Whatever this turns out to be, he's here. Eventually, exhaustion wins and I drift off.

*Daryl's POV*

"They said explore," Rick tells me as he and the rest of the group head out first thing the next morning. "Let's explore."

"Nah, I'll stay," I decline the offer, staying seated on the front porch.

"All right," he nods. "Lori and me, we used to drive through neighborhoods like this. Thinkin' one day…"

"Well, here we are," I mumble uncomfortably.

I don't belong in this kinda neighborhood. Never even thought one day. Not before, sure as hell not now.

"We'll be back," he assures me, bounding down the front steps.

Not even 15 minutes later, Adrienne's stomping up the steps, fuming, and hurling herself onto the gray wicker porch chair.

"I've been called Red by two different people," she seethes. "Abraham's just laughin' it up. No one calls him Red. He gets a  _ 'nice to meet you, sir' _ every time. Hell with appearances, I'm done playin' grab ass with the neighbors."

I can't help it. She's cute when she's pissed. I snort. Her eyes snap to mine, her anger dissolving almost immediately.

"Why didn't you go with 'em?" She questions, grinning at me. "Didn't wanna meet the Stepfords?"

"Stepfords?" I blurt, not knowing what the hell she's talking about.

"The Stepford Wives," she explains. "It was this book from the 70's they made into a movie about a town in Connecticut or Vermont or some shit called Stepford. Anyway, the women there, all of 'em are robots programmed to be  _ perfect. _ You know, rail thin, blonde, submissive little housewives. Giant knockers."

"Nah, I'm good," I chuckle, hopping onto the porch railing to clean my crossbow. "Sounds like a shitty movie, anyway."

"It was," she laughs, falling silent when Aaron comes bounding up the steps, camera around his neck.

"Daryl, Adie," he greets pleasantly. "Hi."

"Hey," Adie nods in his direction, her grin fading just slightly as the man in front of us raises his camera.

"I know this might seem weird, but Deanna likes to keep pictures of everyone in the community," Aaron rushes out. "You're part of us now, and history's important."

"Part of you?" Adie demands, smirking. "It hasn't even been 24 hours yet. You wanna slow your roll?"

Aaron's smile falters and he shuffles uncertainly. I almost feel sorry for him. But Adie don't mean no harm.

"I know," he says finally. "I know it's still early, but… you're here. Even if you decide not to stay, you were part of this for a day, at least. So… may I?"

I'd rather take an arrow to the ass than have my picture taken, but what he's saying makes sense, I guess. We were here. Adie has apparently reached the same conclusion.

"Fine," she concedes, straightening up in her chair, sitting like a proper lady.

Aaron grins, visibly relieved. He's about to take his damn picture when Adie's soft smile turns into something that can only be described as wicked, her middle finger saluting the camera just as it flashes.

"Oh, come on!" Aaron whines, chuckling despite himself.

"What?" Adie shrugs, the picture of wide-eyed innocence.

"Can, can you just give me one serious shot?" Aaron begs. "Please?"

"That costs extra," I blurt.

I regret the words the moment they escape my lips. I'm mortified, and I swear to God, my ears are burning off. Adie's eyebrows arch in surprise, and I'm sure she's gonna yell at me, implying she's for sale or whatever, but she doesn't. She just laughs, and it's my favorite laugh. The one where she's tossing her head back just so, her eyes dancing as the giggles spill from behind her Cheshire cat grin. I can't help but stare. Then a second flash goes off.

"Got it," Aaron chuckles, satisfied.

Suddenly, the lens is on me and I ain't sure what the hell to do. I ain't gonna pose for this shit. I think Aaron gets the hint, though, 'cause he don't wait or tell me to say cheese or nothin'. He just takes my picture and nods to himself, as though affirming he's met his goal.

"Thanks, guys," he grins, leaving us be.

Adie and I watch him as he practically sprints down the road, no doubt in search of more of our group to ambush with his camera. The rest of the day goes by without much else happening. Carl hung out with some other kids his age, came back talking about video games. He likes it here. He could have friends and go to school and shit, like a normal kid. He could do that here. Hell, everyone I care about could have a life here. Like it was before. Still, I feel like I ain't supposed to be here. Ain't nothin' sadder than an outdoor cat thinks he's an indoor cat. I know I ain't an indoor cat.

*Adrienne's POV*

I can't sleep. I'm outside on the porch, perched in the wicker chair I want to hate but actually kind of love, just thinking. This place… the people here aren't strong. Not like we are. They're living like everything is normal, like… like people lived before. Hot water and video games and music. Jobs. The kids here go to school in the Douglas' garage. I didn't think this was possible, but maybe… the front door opens, startling the hell out of me.

"Sorry," Rick murmurs, closing the door softly behind him.

"Where're you goin'?" I whisper, eyeing his coat.

"A walk."

"Want company?"

"I wouldn't mind it."

We walk silently through the streets, taking in scenery that, in comparison to what lies beyond the wall, is downright idyllic. It's comfortable silence, neither of us feeling the need to chit chat. We both know why we can't sleep. We're waiting for the other shoe to drop. For this place to turn against us, for the inevitable shitstorm to go down like last time and the time before that and the time before that ad infinitum.

"You're Rick."

I startle easily these days, apparently, and the voice of a man I don't know floating through the darkness sends me jumping nearly out of my skin. Rick places a calming hand on my elbow as the two of us stare at the silhouette of a man on the porch of the house we're passing by, almost entirely shrouded in shadow, the only sources of light coming from the moon and the round, red-orange glow of a lit cigarette in the stranger's hand.

"Yeah," Rick confirms. "This is Adrienne."

"My wife cut your hair," the man announces, ignoring my presence entirely.

"Yeah," Rick nods, evidently not feeling all that verbose this evening.

"Welcome to Alexandria," the man says, and I can hear the sneer in his voice.

Rick nods a thank you, his hand now grasping my elbow and steering me back toward our designated house. So that's Jessie's husband. I don't think I like him much, either.

The next day, I find myself back in that damn wicker chair again. Most everyone has been assigned jobs, just me, Daryl, Rick, and Michonne left. I don't know where the hell Rick and Michonne got to, but Daryl's company is more than enough. He's perched on the porch railing, fiddling with his crossbow, and I'm trying not to stare at his fingers while he works. This becomes much harder to do when he cuts his thumb and lifts it to his mouth, glaring at the crossbow while he sucks on the tip of his thumb.

I tear my eyes away, wracking my brain for something, anything to spark some sort of conversation. I've never had this issue before, and it's maddening. Everything about this man drives me crazy. Other men were just… void fillers. I've never wanted to be with anybody like this and I can't decide if I hate it or not. God, he'd be mortified, wouldn't he? He would, right? I don't know. Surely he's no stranger to sex, look at him. So… so if he wanted it, he'd say so, right? Christ, I need a distraction. What the hell's wrong with me?

"Time to punch the clock and make the casseroles," Carol chirps, emerging in the doorway and stepping out onto the porch.

Here's my distraction, sporting a powder blue cardigan over a crisp, white button down.

"What?" Daryl asks her, shooting me a confused look.

"Make dinner for the older people," Carol explains while Daryl eyes her outfit. "Moms who need a break, people who can't cook. Get to meet a lot of the neighbors that way."

I snicker and Daryl scoffs, raising his eyebrows and turning back to his crossbow maintenance.

"All right," he smirks.

"Have you taken a shower yet?" Carol demands.

"Mhmm," he lies, nodding.

" _ No, _ " I tattle, earning a half-hearted glare from Daryl.

I really didn't need to snitch, he looks like he's on his way to audition for the role of Pigpen in Peanuts: The Musical. Not that I mind, really. For whatever bizarre reason, the filthier Daryl is, the more distractions I seem to need.

"Take a shower," Carol instructs. "I'm gonna wash that vest. We need to keep up appearances, even you."

"Hey, I ain't startin' now," he protests.

"I'm gonna hose you down in your sleep," Carol threatens, descending the stairs.

"You look ridiculous," he retorts, glaring over his shoulder, but she ignores him, making her way up the sidewalk.

"PTA on steroids," I agree.

Shortly after she leaves, we hear raised voices.

"Is that Glenn?" I question, alarmed.

The two of us sprint towards the voices, stopping just short of the gates. Glenn is arguing with one of Deanna's sons, Aiden, a small crowd forming around them.

"Well then we're just as screwed as your last run crew," Glenn spits.

"Say that again," Aiden challenges, stepping towards him.

"No, back off, Aiden," Tara pipes up.

"Come on," Aiden goads, pushing Glenn not quite hard enough to be considered shoving.

Still, the intention is clear.

"Come on, man, just take a step back," Noah murmurs.

"Come on, tough guy," Aiden urges with a smirk, shoving Glenn a little harder.

"No one's impressed, man," Glenn retorts. "Walk away."

"I'm super impressed," I simper, Aiden's eyes flickering to mine. "Watchin' this douchebag's balls drop right before our very eyes, what a treat."

"Aiden!" Deanna cries, all five foot nothing of her stalking towards her son. "What is going on?"

"This guy's got a problem with the way we do things," Aiden announces, turning towards his mother. "Why'd you let these people in?"

"Because we actually know what we're doing out there," Glenn hisses.

Aiden takes a swing, but he's not quick enough and Glenn's able to dodge him and return the blow. Nicholas jumps into the fray, going for Glenn's back. Before I can move to block him, Daryl pushes me gently out of the way and lunges at him, pinning him down before he can reach our friend. Rick hurls himself at Daryl's back, urging him to let Nicholas up. Aiden's up, ready to attack Glenn again. I kick his legs out from under him, sending him sprawling back to the ground. He's a quick little bastard, right back on his feet again in no time, glaring at me as Michonne steps toward him.

"You wanna end up on your ass again?" She snarls. "Provoke her, I dare you."

"It's cool, alright?" Aiden pants flippantly, catching his breath.

I pull Glenn to his feet just as Rick manages to convince Daryl to let Nicholas go. Nicholas gets to standing, sputtering and coughing dramatically. Wimp. Daryl's pacing back and forth, coiled and ready to beat somebody's ass, Rick doing his damnedest to block him.

"I want everyone to hear me, okay?" Deanna shouts. "Rick and his people are part of this community now, in all ways,  _ as equals. _ Understood?"

"Understood," Aiden says, smirking at Glenn.

"All of you, turn in your weapons," Deanna orders, then turns to point at Aiden and Nicholas. "Then you two come talk to me."

Her boys lope off and she turns to address Rick.

"I told you I had a job for you," she announces. "I'd like you to be our constable. That's what you were. That's what you are. And you, too."

She turns her attention to Michonne, who looks shocked.

"Will you accept?"

"Okay," Rick says with a nod, eyeing Michonne.

"Yeah, I'm in," she agrees.

Daryl scoffs, snatching his crossbow from the ground, casting an accusatory glare at Rick before stomping off. I watch him go, unsure if I should follow or not. Ultimately I decide to go back to Rick's porch, figuring Daryl will be there before too long. I settle myself in the wicker chair and sure enough, Daryl stomps up the steps not long after, pacing angrily.

"You cool with this?" He demands suddenly.

"If we're gonna stick around, it might help if we have our people in positions of authority," I shrug.

" _ Positions of authority, _ " he scoffs. "Nah, they're all jus' kissin' her ass."

He continues to seethe until well after nightfall. I know better than to say anything, instead choosing to busy myself mending the holes in everyone's clothes. Michonne had discovered a washer and dryer in the hall closet and lost her shit, insisting we all toss everything we weren't wearing at the time into the washer. I'm good with needle and thread -it's my one domestic skill- so I've got a basket full of tattered clothing to fix up.

Eventually, the inventory lady, Olivia, shows up to deliver uniforms to Rick and Michonne. I've given up on trying to sew patches into Carl's jeans in the dark. It's just gonna have to wait til I have more light, I'm not going back inside until Daryl does. I still have this weird fear he's gonna just vanish if I take my eyes off him for too long. He's cooled down some. He leans against the rail and lights up, offering me a drag. I decline, but lean against the railing beside him as Rick steps out in his brand new outfit.

"We good?" He asks Daryl, Carol stepping out behind him.

"Yeah," Daryl mutters. "You a cop again?"

"I'm tryin' it on for size," Rick says with a heavy sigh.

"So we're staying?" Carol questions.

"I think we can start sleepin' in our own homes," Rick nods. "Settle in."

"Rick, these people are  _ soft, _ " I point out. "I don't know if this is gonna work."

"We get comfortable here, if we let our guard down…" Carol hedges, eyeing Rick. "This place is gonna make us weak."

"Carl said that," Rick informs us, stepping towards the railing. "But it's not gonna happen. We won't get weak. That's not in us anymore. We'll make it work."

"What if  _ they _ can't?" I question.

"If they can't make it, then we'll just take this place," Rick announces, turning to look us each in the eye.

Carol nods. I exchange a glance with Daryl, and he looks as surprised as I feel. When did we decide we were that kind of group? Taking shit from other people just because we can? Still, no one argues. No one argues because this is what it's got to be. Right? We have to stay here. Carl and Judith… they need this. Hell, we  _ all _ need this. The people here are just gonna have to adjust.


	58. Welcome To Alexandria

**Chapter 58**

"I don't see it, but it's close," Daryl says the next morning, searching for the source of the snarling. "There's just one of 'em."

Rick called an impromptu -and secret, apparently- meeting first thing after breakfast. He, Daryl, Carol, and me have gathered near an old, dilapidated house outside the walls of Alexandria to discuss how the hell exactly we're going to smuggle weapons from the armory without detection.

"We won't be here long," Rick assures him. "So what do you think?"

"We can go in when it's empty," Carol suggests.

"Well, how is that?" Rick questions. "It's locked up at night."

"The window," I point out, Carol nodding.

"There's just a latch," She adds. "I can leave it open."

"A latch?" Rick asks dubiously.

"Yeah," Carol confirms.

"What if one of those pricks shuts it?" Daryl questions.

"Wait and try again in a couple days," I murmur, squinting into the trees as the snarls from the unseen walker get louder.

"It's gettin' closer," Daryl warns, following my gaze.

"We need to do it sooner than later," Rick says. "Right now, they're not watchin' us. Not worryin' about meetings like this. We may need the guns, we may not."

"We will, whichever way it goes," Carol points out.

"They're used to doin' things a certain way around here," I add. "That dipshit Aiden and his dipshit friend. Even if we use as little force as possible, try and ease 'em into changin', eventually it's gonna be a fight, soon as we piss off the wrong person."

"They're the luckiest damn people I ever met," Rick mutters. "And they just keep gettin' luckier."

"How's that?" Daryl asks.

"We're here now," Rick says simply.

"They've got a couple footlockers just full of 9 millimeter autos, Rugers, Kel-Tecs," Carol lists. "Just tossed in there. They don't use them, they're never gonna know they're gone."

"Someone's got one now, right?" Daryl questions, eyeing the old blender on the ground in which Rick had hidden a gun which has since gone missing.

"Hmm," Rick grunts. "Listen, the others, we want them to try."

"You, too," Carol nods at Daryl.

"So we keep it quiet," Rick orders. "Just us."

"You know what we should do?" I question, eyes wide. "Let's come up with a secret handshake. A fight song, like some hardcore team spirit shit."

Daryl scoffs and Rick eyes me, annoyed but still somewhat amused.

"Really, I don't know what kind of help I'm gonna be unless you need me to fight someone," I shrug. "Deanna hasn't assigned me a job, and I can't exactly infiltrate the neighborhood like Holly Homemaker over there."

Carol smirks at the name, offering me a curtsy.

"Actually, Deanna's got somethin' lined up," Rick announces. "You're gonna wanna go talk to her when we get back."

"What is it?" I demand, but Rick remains tight-lipped. "Rick?"

Before he can tell me what he knows, the walker comes stumbling out of the trees.

"Here it comes," Rick warns.

"I got 'im," Daryl says, pulling his crossbow from his shoulder.

"Hey, wait," Carol stops him, marching purposefully towards the walker.

She then proceeds to fire no less than eight silenced rounds into the walker, seven to the torso with one final headshot to take it out.

"We said we were takin' me out shooting," she explains. "I couldn't come back with a full mag."

"Lucky he came by," Daryl points out.

"I would've taken a few shots for the team," I say breezily, Carol grinning despite herself.

"We should get back," Rick says, and the four of us start back towards Alexandria. "You'll pull the latch, we'll pick our moment. Us? We don't need to be lucky."

"What the hell's that?" Daryl demands, pulling up short beside the downed walker. "That a  _ 'W'? _ "

"Oh, hell no," I mutter, staring down at the letter etched into the walker's forehead. "That's some Manson Family shit right there."

A  _ 'W'... _ what the hell does that mean? We don't stick around to discuss it, leaving the peculiarly marked walker and getting back to our new neighbors. Before we reach the gate, Daryl slows.

"I'm gon' stay out here for a bit," he announces.

Carol and Rick nod, continuing on their way. I hang back for a moment, waiting til they're out of sight before turning to Daryl.

"Be safe," I tell him, giving him a peck on the cheek. "Come back."

"I will," he grunts, ears flushing red, the hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Go get yourself that job, girl. 'Bout time you started earnin' your keep."

"Yes, sir," I scoff, chuckling and elbowing him gently. "But really. Be safe."

He nods and I let him go, watching and wishing like hell I could stay with him. I kick the dirt with a sigh and catch up with Rick and Carol.

*Daryl's POV*

I don't mind being alone. Never did. But right now I find myself wishing Adrienne had come along. I miss her all the time, sometimes even when I'm with her, for whatever bizarre reason. It ain't never enough. She's got more important shit to do, though. Seems Deanna's deemed her worthy of a job in her precious  _ community. _ Seen something useful in everyone but me. Whatever, it don't matter. It's like Joe said. Nothin' sadder than an outdoor cat thinks he's an indoor cat. I don't belong in them walls. Adie does, though.

My stewing is interrupted when I hear someone scuttling about in the trees near me.

"Come out!" I bark, raising my crossbow. "Now!"

"You can tell the difference between walkers and humans by sound?" Aaron asks, emerging with his hands raised.

I don't answer him. Why's this guy always fucking following people? It's creepy.

"Can you tell the difference between a good guy and a bad guy?" He drops his hands as I lower my weapon. "Rick doesn't seem to be an expert at that."

"There ain't much of a difference no more," I growl.

"That how you feel about your people?" He counters.

"Why you followin' me?" I demand.

"I didn't know I was," he insists. "I came out to hunt rabbits. I know why  _ you're _ out here. Mind if I join?"

Man, he don't know shit. Still, company might not be the worst thing. Even if it is just Aaron. I whirl around, heading back in the direction I'd been going.

"Keep up," I tell him over my shoulder. "'N keep quiet."

*Adrienne's POV*

A bit later, I'm knocking on the Monroe's front door, but no one's answering. It's unlocked, so I take the liberty of letting myself in. There are voices floating down the hallway. Deanna and… Rick? I head down the hallway and lean against the entryway of Deanna's dining room, where she's having a meeting with Maggie, Rick, and Michonne.

"There's gonna be a government here one day," she's saying, Maggie hanging on her every word. "That's why I want Maggie working with me. There's gonna be a police force, that's why I want you two to start it. I see a vibrant community here with industry, commerce...  _ civilization. _ Real lives. It might be horses and mills, but… what?"

She stops, catching the look Rick is undoubtedly giving her right now that I, unfortunately, can't see from my position behind him.

"Does that sound like pie in the sky?" She demands.

"No," Maggie tells her.

"No," Michonne agrees, nodding.

"No," Rick echoes.

"A little bit," I blurt from the doorway, Rick whirling around in surprise. "But I'm a big fan of pie."

"Adrienne," Deanna greets warmly, gesturing at the empty chair across the table from her.

"Rick tells me you've got a job for me, ma'am?" I question, taking a seat.

"Yes," she says, smiling up at me. "I'm exceptionally good at reading people, Miss Blake, but I'll admit you had me stumped. You've met our doctor, Pete Anderson?"

_ Miss Blake. _ Ignoring the name, I shake my head. I've met very few people here, preferring to hang back with Daryl or hole up in Rick's living room, and those I have met… well, I don't remember most of their names. Reg, Deanna's husband. Their sons, Spencer and Aiden. Aaron and Eric, of course. Nicholas, Jessie and her two sons, Ron and Sam, Olivia… that's about it.

"Well, he's asked for you specifically," she beams. "He's a brilliant surgeon. Now that we've added all of you to the ranks, he was hoping he would be granted an assistant, an  _ apprentice _ of sorts. It would give you some training and make his job much easier. Would you accept?"

What choice do I have? I can feel Rick's eyes on me, waiting for me to fuck up and tell her hell no. But… working with the town doctor? What better way to get inside knowledge on the people here? So I thank her graciously and follow her directions to meet the doctor at his infirmary. The moment I walk in the door, I'm greeted by a man in a white lab coat. His strawberry blonde hair is receding and his blue eyes are cold. I haven't met this man.

"Adrienne," Pete Anderson smiles, and that voice... I remember him now.

_ Welcome to Alexandria. _

The smoking man from the other night. Jessie's husband.

"Nice to meet you, officially," he continues, any trace of the malice I'd heard in his voice the night we half-assedly met nowhere to be found. "I'm Dr. Anderson. You can just call me Pete."

He offers his hand and I shake it as briefly as politeness will allow.

"Deanna had said you were in need of an apprentice?" I ask, hating the nervous tremor in my voice.

"Yes, she'd mentioned she was having trouble figuring out where to place you in our little community here, what with your limited experience," he says congenially, his eyes brightening at the shame coloring my cheeks. "I thought, what the hell, right? Everyone starts somewhere. Truth is, it gets a bit lonely between patients and you seemed like excellent company."

I did? I hadn't said a single word to the man prior to approximately ten seconds ago, and I have no idea how to respond to the overly familiar way he's carrying on. Like we're old friends or something. I'm trying to keep up appearances like Rick asked, but something about this guy just makes my skin crawl. Before I can say anything, he's talking again.

"But listen, I uh, I don't have anything for you today," he announces. "We have no patients and I was actually just heading home to get ready for the event this evening."

"Event?" I blurt, my eyes snapping up to his.

"The party?" He questions, smirking at my obvious confusion. "Deanna's hosting a welcome get-together for you and your friends at her place tonight. We'll talk more then, hammer out the details."

"Um, I uh…" I stammer, at a loss. "Lookin' forward to it. See you tonight."

"Plan on it," he says breezily, opening the door for me as I struggle not to look like I'm running away.

A party. The world has gone to hell in a fucking hand basket and these people are having  _ parties. _ As soon as I'm out the door, I spot Rick walking down the street just a few yards away. I stomp towards him angrily, reaching him the same time Carol does. She's all smiles, having just left a porch full of giggling women. This new, weird Carol is disconcerting as all hell.

"You heard about the party," Rick guesses, taking in the anger I'm sure is radiating off me in waves.

"I heard about the party," I hiss, falling into step with him and Carol.

"Everyone's gonna be there," Rick points out.

"That's right," Carol chirps, smiling like her Miss America title depends on it.

"So… so tonight then?" I question, still miffed but understanding this is actually good in the overall scheme of things.

"Should be able to slip out," Carol confirms.

"The armory is right next to Deanna's," Rick says. "I'll back you up."

"People might wonder where their new constable is," Carol points out. "Or Carl's dad."

Her fake grin is weirding me the fuck out, big and bright and oh so convincing.

"Okay," Rick concedes. "We can't use Daryl."

"Why not?" I blurt defensively.

"They're watchin' every move he makes," Rick tells me.

"Well, Adie would know  _ all _ about that," Carol quips, my face igniting.

"Well, I could cover you." I volunteer, choosing to ignore the teasing.

Of course I watch Daryl. Who the fuck wouldn't?

"Nah, you're too...  _ conspicuous, _ " Rick argues.

"And what the hell's that supposed mean, Rick?" I question hotly.

"People... notice you, Adrienne," he says carefully, eyeing me. "We can't risk you bein' followed by some creep lookin' to get your attention."

"Look at you," Carol grins, genuinely this time. "Goin' all big brother. How sweet is that?"

"People don't  _ notice _ me," I protest. "I can do it."

"Yes, they do and no, you can't," Rick counters.

"It's fine," Carol cuts in before I can argue. "You being a distraction could actually work to our advantage. You know what's great about this place? I get to be invisible again."

Damn it. Carol has all the fun.

*Daryl's POV*

We've been walking a while, coming across a whole lotta nothin'. I'm about ready to turn back when we spot a horse in a clearing.

"I've been trying to catch him for months, bring him inside," Aaron tells me, the two of us eyeing the grazing beast. "His name's Buttons."

Buttons? Really? I must have made a face because Aaron's quick to explain the name.

"One of the kids saw him run by the gate a while back," he says. "Thought he looked like a Buttons. I haven't seen him for a while. I was afraid it was too late."

Too late meaning he thought the horse had gone and gotten himself eaten like every goddamn thing else out here.

"Every time Eric or I come close, he gets spooked," he continues, pulling a lariat from his pack, which I take from his hand. "Have you done this before?"

"Nah," I tell him, eyeing the horse. "My group did. But they weren't out there that long. Longer they're out there, the more they become what they really are."

Wild animals. Free. Ain't gotta carry nobody's lazy ass nowhere. The way it should be. I approach him slowly, holding open the loop end of the lariat.

"I ain't gon' hurt you," I murmur soothingly, inching closer. "All right? Come on, boy. Yeah. Jus' keep on eatin'. Yeah. Good boy. Yeah, you used to be somebody's, huh? Now you're jus' yours."

I've almost got the loop around his neck when walkers emerge seemingly from nowhere, spooking the hell outta the horse.

"Shit!" I snarl, tossing the rope aside as the horse makes a run for it. "Come on, they're comin'!"

Aaron sprints into the clearing and together we take down the eight or so walkers. I'm glad he's with me. He ain't so bad. Adie likes him. And he don't have that damn camera on him this time.

-

"You ride horses?" Aaron asks eventually, the two of us combing our way deeper and deeper into the woods in search of Buttons.

"I ride bikes."

"I take it you don't mean 10-speeds." 

Obviously I don't fuckin' mean 10-speeds. I never had a bike that didn't have an engine somewhere on it. Never had nothin' as nice as the Triumph, neither. That was Merle's bike, and I'm pretty sure he bought it with the money he made slinging dope before he started messing around with crystal and ruined his life. I goddamn told him not to touch that shit.

"I know you're feeling like an outsider," Aaron blurts. "It's not your fault, you know. Eric and I, we're still looked at as outsiders in a lot of ways."

What, 'cause they're gay? Does that shit even matter anymore? Who you share your bed with? Not that it should've before, but it sure as hell don't now.

"We've heard our fair share of well-meaning, but... hilariously offensive things from some otherwise really nice men and women," he continues. "People are people. The more afraid they get, the more stupid they get. Fear shrinks the brain. They're scared of you and me for different reasons. They're less scared of me because they know me. It's less and less every day. So… let 'em get to know you. You should go to Deanna's party tonight."

What fuckin' party? And why the fuck would I wanna hang out with a bunch of bigots and pansy asses for, anyway? What, so I can sit in a corner and try to ignore the stares and whispers? Watch Deanna's dumbass sons eye fuck Adie all night? So these assholes won't be as  _ scared?  _ Fuck that.

"I got nothin' to prove," I grunt. "I met a lotta bad people out here doin' a lotta bad shit. They weren't afraid of nothin'."

"Yeah, they were," he says simply.

I guess he might be right. They were all afraid of at least one thing.

*Adrienne's POV*

"Rick!" I holler.

"What?" He races into the bathroom, Carol right behind him. "What, what's wrong, what happened?"

I'm standing in a towel, staring,  _ horrified, _ at the scrap of fabric his new best friend, Jessie, had supposedly called a dress when she dropped it off a few minutes ago. I'd been in the shower at the time and Rick had graciously hung it upon the doorknob, relaying Carol's advice that I shave my legs  _ 'or whatever'. _

"I am  _ not _ wearin' this," I scowl, dangling the dress in front of him.

"Oh, yes you are," Carol says, pushing her way past Rick into the bathroom.

"God damn it, Adie, I thought you were in trouble or somethin'," he snaps, whirling on his heel and stalking off down the hallway.

"Carol!" I hiss, mortified. "This… this  _ thing  _ barely covers my ass."

"Don't be dramatic, it's almost to your knees," she scoffs, closing the door. "Very fashion forward for a woman your age."

She hands me the bra and underwear Jessie had sent and motions for the towel, which she takes and holds up like a partition, looking away while I put on my underthings. 

"What did she do, raid a Victoria's Secret or somethin'?" I demand, putting on the atrociously lacy set. "Jesus. Who needs this shit anymore?"

Once I'm somewhat modest, she hangs the towel on the knob and hands me the dress. It's a tiny black cocktail dress and I eye it, fuming. Cocktail  _ napkin _ would cover more.

"For god's sake, put it on," she huffs. "I'm sort of counting on you to be a distraction tonight."

I unzip the slinky little monstrosity and step into it, tugging it up over my body and pulling the straps over my arms. Carol zips me up and I glare at my reflection.

" _ Look  _ at the neckline!" I snap, tugging it up to no avail. "Deanna's gonna  _ shit _ if I show up like this."

"No, but Daryl might," she says slyly.

"Is he back?" I ask, temporarily forgetting about the dress.

"No, but he will be," she chirps, glancing around the room. "Jessie also sent shoes, where did you put them?"

I've hidden the shoes in the cupboard under the sink. Carol notices the guilt on my face and immediately zeroes in on the cupboard, producing the shoes from behind a stack of toiletries. The shoes aren't as bad as the dress, a relatively demure pair of black pumps with a four inch heel. But at my 5'10", these babies put me over six feet. I feel like the jolly green giant. Just not jolly. Not in the fucking slightest.

"My cookies are gonna burn," Carol snaps, casting an accusatorial glance my way and leaving me alone in the bathroom.

I twist and turn, eyeing my foggy reflection in the mirror. I'm not wearing this shit. I don't have the  _ boobs _ for this, never mind the confidence. I step out of the shoes, quietly kicking them aside.

"Put them back on!" Carol shouts from downstairs. "And for god's sake, do  _ something _ with your hair."

"There better be alcohol at this party!" I holler angrily, shoving my feet back into the heels. "And you owe me at  _ least _ half those cookies!"

I towel dry my hair, viciously tear a brush through it, and then I'm ready to go. I stomp down the stairs, meeting Carol, Rick, Carl, and Judith at the door. Rick's eyes widen, something like shock crossing his face.

"You look…" he starts, unsure which adjective he should use.

"Like a tramp?" I supply. "A hussie? A  _ trollop, _ perhaps?"

"I was gonna say  _ nice, _ " Rick counters, then turns to address Carol. "We ready?"

"Yeah," she replies, plastering that phony grin into place. "You look beautiful, Adie."

I scoff, feeling like a child playing dress up in my mama's things. It makes me feel like I did when I was little, when my parents would dress me up like a damn doll and parade me around at all the important political events and functions we Blakes were required to attend. I'd have been much happier in jeans and a t-shirt, but that just wasn't ladylike. We head out the door, making our way down the street to Deanna's place, my heart fluttering nervously as we get closer. I don't know where to put my hands. I don't know how to walk in these shoes.

We're greeted warmly by Deanna at the door. She says nothing about the dress, which means she probably hates it and is just too polite to say so. Sweeping the room, I can't help but notice the fact that no one else is quite this dressed up. I head straight for the alcohol and I'm sipping on a second beer by the time Abraham and Rosita arrive, making their way over.

"God  _ damn, _ " Abraham says, looking me up and down. "Lord have mercy."

"I'll cut your balls off and drop 'em in a glass like martini olives, Ford."

"You are one hell of a woman," he chuckles, pouring himself a drink.

"Hey," Rosita interrupts with a smirk. "Eyes on me, champ."

Rosita would look much better in this thing. She's got the body for it, that's for damn sure. She's got the attitude to pull it off, too, and I'm seriously considering asking her to switch outfits.

"Excuse me," I mutter, spotting Maggie, Glenn, and Noah across the room and making my way over.

"Woah," Glenn greets me, not bothering to hide his shock.

"Please don't," I beg, fretting with my hemline.

"You look gorgeous," Maggie says, putting her hand on my shoulder.

"Uh, well, thank you," I mumble, flushing. "I look like a clown."

"A seriously hot clown," she counters with a grin.

Noah's the only person in the immediate vicinity who seems unimpressed, and I love him for it.

"Have y'all seen Daryl?" I question, casting a distressed glance around the room.

Before any of my friends can answer, Deanna's upon us, mingling like the expert hostess she is. I continue to scan the room, foolishly hoping against hope Daryl's hiding in a corner somewhere with a bottle of something less beer-y and more whiskey-ish. He's not, but I spot a guitar perched on a display rack. Glenn follows my gaze, eyes lighting up when he sees the six string.

"Deanna, do you play?" He questions.

"Oh, no, absolutely not," she says, waving her hand. "No, that was here before we were. My son, Spencer, plucked at it a few times, but now it's just something to look at."

"Adie plays," Glenn announces, shooting me a grin. "She's good."

"You know, this party could use a little entertainment," Deanna muses, smiling encouragingly. "I would be honored if you would play for us."

"She'd love to," Maggie says before I can decline.

I shoot the Rhee's a look that promises bodily harm in the very near future. Glenn is unaffected, happily retrieving the guitar from the wall and placing it in my hands, all eyes suddenly on me. Abe appears with a barstool and I ease myself onto it, more uncomfortable with the hemline of the glorified bandana I'd been dressed in than ever. I strum a couple chords and tweak the pegs a bit, making sure it's tuned to my satisfaction. I clear my throat and begin to play the first thing that comes to mind.

"Count your blessings, my love. I can tell you that it's colder on the outside. All these lessons, my love… I could teach you to be bolder. Oh, but what's the use in tryin' when you never give a damn at all?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is called Count Your Blessings by George Ogilvie and I highly recommend it cause it's amazing! 10/10 would listen again


	59. It's a Fantastic Shot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May or may not be some almost smut in this chapter. Pre-smut. A small bit of canoodling. Whatever you wanna call it lol, this is your warning. Thanks for reading!

**Chapter 59**

*Daryl's POV*

Chasing after that damn horse had been a magnificent waste of fucking time. We'd gotten to him too late to save him, just in time to put him outta his misery. We get back to Alexandria just as the sun sets, and after some encouragement from Aaron, I decide to attend the party. Mostly because I want to see Adrienne. I hadn't planned on being out all day and lately when she's out of my sight for too long, my throat hurts.

Keeping up appearances. That's what Rick said we have to do. Before I can think too much of it, I take a quick shower and throw on some clean clothes. I'm keeping my vest, though. Carol's gonna have to pry it off me if she wants it clean that bad. It's dark out by the time I'm ready. I make my way to the Monroe place nervously, standing just outside.

I can't go in. All them people, looking at me like I ain't shit. I'm about to leave, just turn around and wait for Adrienne on Rick's porch, when I hear something I didn't think I'd ever hear again. Adrienne's playing. Someone's given her a guitar, and she's singing, her voice floating out an open window and reaching me where I stand on the street. I ain't heard her sing since before the prison fell.

"Oh, I'm waitin' for a change to come along. For all the dark clouds to clear so we can see both sides of the sun. I don't see what I… I don't see what I could do. Don't you know there's only so many ways that I can love you. Oh, I can love you..."

The music picks up, faster and more lively than before, and I don't need to see her to know she's lost herself in it. I stay outside and listen. Like most songs she sings, I ain't never heard this one.

"Count your blessings tonight, though you're safe upon my shoulders. You'll be fine by my side. Time after time I've tried to say this world's a war and we are soldiers. Oh, there's no choice but to fight it when you're dyin' on the front line."

I wish I could see her face, watch while she plays. I ain't never seen her do it, just listened. When her and Beth sang at the prison, it was just voices, and she ain't never sang over Beth. Just sang soft and low.

"Oh, I can love you… oh, I can love you. Oh, but what's the use in tryin' when you never give a damn at all?"

When she's finished, she's greeted with a round of applause and I can hear Glenn above 'em all.

"Yeah, Adie!"

My family's in there. It's such a simple thing, just walk into the goddamn house. Ignore the stares, the whispers, the judging eyes of several dozen strangers. But it's like I'm frozen to the ground. I can't convince my feet they wanna move. I just need a few more minutes. Just gotta go in at the right time. Yeah. I stay glued to my spot, trying to convince myself to go inside.

*Adrienne's POV*

"You come back and play whenever you like," a teary-eyed Deanna tells me, pulling me into a hug. "Thank you for being here tonight."

"Thank you for havin' me, ma'am," I smile, making my escape from the party full of adoring strangers.

I'm almost out the door when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I whirl around to find the doctor staring down at me.

"You sing beautifully," Pete slurs, a bottle of scotch in the hand not currently resting on my skin.

"Oh, um. Thank you," I reply, wishing he'd move his hand. "I was just leavin'. Have a nice night, Pete."

"You sure you can't stay longer?" He questions.

"I'm just really tired," I mutter evasively.

"Look, you've been making eyes at me all night," Pete's grip tightens on my shoulder, his eyes wandering my body. "Got all dressed up for me."

"What?" I ask, stricken.

"Don't be a tease, Red."

His hand crawls down my back, coming to a stop just above my ass. How is nobody seeing this?

"You're drunk," I inform him. "Go hit on your wife."

"My  _ wife, _ " he chuckles bitterly, and I shift uncomfortably under his gaze. "She was a looker back in her day, you know. Knew it, too. Kinda like you now."

"I… I'm, I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression," I stammer, moving away from him. "But I mean it, I'm goin' home. Good night."

Before he can say anything else, I stumble my way out the door and down the stairs. My heart is thundering in my chest. That man is a predator and I should have known from the way I felt the moment I heard him speak. I need to get the hell away from this place. My vision blurs and I start to shake, tears slipping silently down my cheeks as I hurry down the drive, praying to anyone listening that Pete doesn't follow me.

"Adie?"

*Daryl's POV*

I'm still standing rooted to the same damn spot I'd been in for the last thirty minutes when Adrienne practically sprints out Deanna's front door and barrels across the lawn. What the hell is she wearing? She don't look like herself, all dressed up like that. Hold up, why's she crying?

"Adie?" I ask, stepping out from where I'd been hidden in the trees across the street. "You all right?"

"Daryl?" She turns, wiping away her tears and plastering on a phony grin that don't quite reach her eyes. "You're back."

I make my way over to her and she suddenly seems nervous, pulling at her dress. She don't just look uncomfortable. She looks terrified.

"What's wrong?"

"Oh, um… nothin', really," she mumbles, avoiding my eyes. "Just… some drunk asshole. I'm fine. Ready to get the hell outta here. Rick's still in there somewhere, if you wanna go hang out. They uh, they have beer."

"Nah," I tell her. "I'm good."

I can't help it. My eyes wander. She don't look comfortable, but  _ god damn… _ she notices me looking and I swallow hard, shifting my eyes away from her. Fuck. I'm a fuckin' creep.

"I know," she says, chuckling softly. "I look ridiculous."

"You don't," I blurt, reddening instantly.

"I feel like a clown," she huffs. "And I can't walk in these things."

She kicks the shoes off, plucking them up from off the ground and starting barefoot down the street towards Rick's place.

"Wait," I stop her, motioning for her to climb into my arms. "C'mere."

"Are… are you serious?" She questions, cocking her head.

"Yeah, come up."

She stands in front of me and I lift her from the ground, carrying her bridal style towards Rick's.

"You know you don't have to carry me, right?" She questions. "A little dirt on my feet won't kill me."

"Mhmm," I grunt, carrying her anyway.

"You showered," she observes, burying her face in my neck. "You smell like horse shampoo."

"Yeah, so do you," I counter.

"You smell good," she nuzzles my neck and I swear to fucking god my ears are on fire.

"Daryl," Aaron steps out of his house, startling me. "Adie, hey."

I gently place Adrienne back on her own feet, the two of us flushing as she slips her shoes back on.

*Adrienne's POV*

"Thought you were goin' to that party over there," Daryl says.

I thought we'd been having a moment, just the two of us, without anyone intruding for fucking once. He actually showered and  _ god damn, _ he smells good. Leave it to Aaron to fuck up any possibility of some alone time with him tonight. At least he doesn't have a camera this time.

"Oh," Aaron replies. "I was never going to go 'cause of Eric's ankle, thank god."

"Why the hell'd you tell me to go, then?" Daryl demands indignantly, and I suppress a giggle.

"I said  _ try, _ " Aaron corrects him. "You did. It's a thought that counts thing."

"All right," Daryl says awkwardly, placing his hand on my back and guiding me towards Rick's.

"Hey, you guys should come in," Aaron says, stopping us in our tracks. "Have some dinner."

Daryl eyes me questioningly. I shrug. Why not?

"Come on, man," Aaron insists. "It's some pretty serious spaghetti."

And so here we sit, having dinner with Aaron and Eric. Aaron served us all large portions of spaghetti and Daryl's wasting no time in consuming his. It still feels weird to be eating off actual plates, and I'm sure between the two of us Daryl and I are quite the spectacle. He's wolfing down massive forkfuls, barely taking the time to chew before swallowing and shoveling another bite into his mouth.

I, on the other hand, have opted to ignore my fork entirely, using my fingers to pluck individual noodles from the plate and dropping them into my mouth. Very dainty. Then I notice Eric's eyes flicker between us before exchanging an amused glance with Aaron. I lick the sauce from my fingers, suddenly feeling quite self conscious. I grab my fork and begin swirling pasta onto it, eating properly for the first time in what feels like a decade. I take a sip of wine as Daryl slurps up the last of his spaghetti.

"Thanks," he grunts, eyes on the table, wiping his mouth on his sleeve before noticing the napkin beside his plate.

"Thank you," I echo appreciatively, raising my glass to our hosts. "This was delicious."

"You ain't gon' finish?" Daryl asks, eyeing the three bites worth of pasta still on my plate.

"I'm good," I assure him, placing my plate atop his empty one.

He promptly devours my leftovers, this time opting for the napkin to wipe his mouth when finished.

"Mmm, when you're out there, uh, if you happen to be in a store or something," Eric starts, dabbing at his own mouth. "Uh, Mrs. Neudermyer's really looking for a pasta maker. And we're all  _ really _ trying to get her to shut up about it."

Daryl nods, taking a sip of wine from his glass. I stare at the redheaded man across the table. A pasta maker. I'm fucking floored. That's what these people worry about. Pasta makers and parties.

"I mean, we have crates of dried pasta in here, but she wants to make her own or something," Eric continues. "I really think she just wants something to talk about, so… if you see one out on your travels, it would go a long way to..."

Aaron shoots Eric a look, perhaps noticing the tension settling over me and Daryl as the two of us exchange a glance, realizing just how unbelievably naive the people of Alexandria really are. Weak.

"I thought it was done," Eric says. "You didn't ask him already?"

Ask him what? I eye the men around me curiously.

"Ask me what?" Daryl questions.

"Come with me," Aaron says abruptly, leading Daryl off into the garage.

Eric regards me inquisitively, a pleasant smile on his face.

"So," he says as I put my glass to my lips. "How long have you been together?"

I snort, sending the wine I'd just sipped surging into my nose. It burns. Together?

"What?" I sputter. "We, we're not, I mean I'm not, he-"

"Really?" He questions, raising an amused eyebrow. "Could've fooled me. He hardly takes his eyes off you."

I flush crimson, unable to help the ridiculous grin creeping its way onto my lips. Eric smirks knowingly and clinks his glass against mine.

"In his defense," he muses. "You hardly take your eyes off him, either."

"That obvious, huh?"

"Oh, yeah," he whispers conspiratorially.

Great. Part of me hates the lack of privacy, but another part of me doesn't mind. I mean, I guess it's not official or whatever, but I like knowing that people see us as an us. And now I wonder if maybe Daryl sees it that way, too.

"Then again, you  _ are _ a total knockout in that dress," Eric grins, eyeing my outfit approvingly while I blush even harder. "I'm just saying, if I was straight…"

He arches an eyebrow lasciviously and I can't help but laugh.

"I actually really hate this dress," I admit with a chuckle, taking another long sip from my glass.

"Pity," Eric tsks sadly. "You know, if you're that uncomfortable, you should just let your boyfriend help you out of it."

Once again, alcohol burns my nasal passages as I choke on my wine.

*Daryl's POV*

I follow Aaron out to the garage, almost grateful to have a reason not to be in the room with Adrienne. Every time I look at her in that damn dress, I get so nervous I can't stand it. Now that she's relaxed some, she doesn't look so uncomfortable. She looks… I don't even know. She looks like one of them girls from them spy movies Merle used to watch. She's just something else and I'm trying not to think about what's under that dress and it ain't working 'cause my pants are tighter than they're supposed to be and  _ fuck. _

"When I got the place, there was that frame and some parts and equipment," Aaron announces, my eyes scanning the litany of scrap parts littering nearly every available surface. "Whoever lived here built 'em."

"It's a lotta parts for one bike," I point out.

"Whenever I came across any parts out there, I brought 'em back," he explains. "I didn't know what I'd need. I always thought I'd learn how to do it, but I get the feeling you already know what to do with it. And the thing is… you're going to need a bike."

So they're kicking me out. That's why they ain't given me nothin' to do. Feeding me dinner and sending me on my way. All that talk about feeling like an outsider was just bullshit. Maybe that party was just a test, to see if I'd go. Maybe 'cause I didn't go in, I failed.

"Why?" I demand.

"I told Deanna not to give you a job because I think I have one for you," he informs me. "I'd like you to be Alexandria's other recruiter. I don't want Eric risking his life anymore."

"You want me riskin' mine, right?" I question, nodding curtly.

"Yeah."

Well, at least the sumbitch is honest. 

"Because you know what you're doing," he reasons. "You're good out there. But you don't  _ belong _ out there. I know it's hard getting used to people getting used to you."

He keeps talking while I pull a large tarp off the bike frame in the middle of the room. Shit, I can get this put together in no time.

"And I understand right now you need to be out there sometimes," he continues. "So do I. But… the main reason why I want you to help me recruit is because you do know the difference between a good person and a bad person."

I nod, considering. He ain't bad. Eric's all right, too. And we do need people. Rick might not take to the idea right away, and Adie... she ain't gonna like it neither, I don't think. But I need this.

"I got nothin' else to do." 

"I think Adrienne might disagree with you there," he chuckles.

I just scoff, hoping like hell my face ain't as hot as it feels.

"Thanks."

"Yeah," he says, smiling.

"I'll get you some rabbits," I tell him, remembering we hadn't come across any before.

"Great," he says with a laugh. "Oh, hey, um…" he reaches into his pocket, producing two small photos and thrusting them into my hands. "I thought you might want these, so I made copies. Well, I made  _ a  _ copy. There was no need to copy the one with the finger, obviously, but the other one… well, it's a fantastic shot."

The pictures he'd taken of Adie. He's right. I  _ do _ want them, which is fucking news to me. Ain't never carried around a picture of nobody before. I don't know what the hell to say, and he's eyeing me with that annoying fuckin' look like he knows I don't know what to say, so I just don't say nothin'. I tuck the photos into my vest and we head back inside. Eric's just finished telling Adie some kind of story, and I watch as she throws her head back in laughter, her entire face lighting up. She doesn't laugh like this often enough any more. She could be happy here. Aaron watches me watching her.

"You know," he murmurs, smirking. "I'm a sucker for redheads, too."

"Shut up," I grunt, moving to join Adie back at the table while Aaron giggles to himself.

Ain't never been a sucker for nobody before, neither, but shit… maybe I am now. And I think I might be okay with that. 'Cause it's  _ her. _

*Adrienne's POV*

Eric is a riot. By the time Daryl and I leave, I'm buzzing happily from the alcohol and excellent company.

"We'll have to do this again sometime," Aaron says, showing us out to the front porch.

"We will," Daryl, to my surprise, agrees readily.

"Thanks again," I beam.

Aaron just smiles and disappears behind his door. Daryl and I head towards Rick's place, four houses down the street. I take his hand in mine, lacing our fingers. There may be some bad people here, but overall? I think I could be happy. Daryl could be happy. We could have a future here, all of us. We reach the porch and, in the most surprising gesture yet, Daryl sinks into the wicker chair, pulling me down to rest in his lap.

"Not ready to go inside yet?" I question, kicking my heels off and resting my head on his shoulder.

"Nah."

"Eric was tellin' me Aaron's got a bunch of bike parts in their garage, that what he wanted to show you?"

"Mhmm. Got a frame in there, enough parts to rebuild it a few times over."

We settle into a comfortable silence. I'm just enjoying being close to him. He's less and less guarded around me every day. I suddenly feel the overwhelming urge to tell him how I feel. I've been avoiding saying it again, not wanting him to feel pressured or uncomfortable. But I have to say it, I need him to know. I softly press my lips to his neck.

"I love you, Daryl Dixon."

He stiffens, tensing up like I knew he would. Tough shit, though. He's ready to hear it, even if he doesn't know he is.

"You don't have to say anything," I tell him earnestly, turning my head so I can look him in the eyes. "That's not why I'm sayin' it. I just... you should know."

He nods, eyeing me cautiously as his body relaxes again. He's biting his lip again, and I can practically hear his mind racing. Emboldened by the fact he hasn't thrown me from his lap, cursing my name, I lean in and kiss him and, after a moment, his lips start to move with mine. He's careful, hesitant. Then something changes in him, like he's made a decision in his mind. Carpe Diem or whatever. I don't even know because he's kissing me, Daryl fucking Dixon is kissing  _ me, _ and I can't think straight.

I don't wanna think at all.

His lips part and he flicks the tip of his tongue across my bottom lip. I turn in his lap, placing his hands over my hips and deepening the kiss, parting my lips and taking his bottom lip into my mouth, gently grazing it with my teeth.

He lets out a soft groan, tipping his head back as I trail kisses down his neck. The noise starts a fire in me, I swear to God, I'm burning alive. I want him so badly I could cry or scream or maybe both. He captures my lips with his once more and I shift on his lap, placing my legs on either side of him. His breath hitches and he freezes. He's still scared, still so unsure, but, almost despite himself, his hands stay firmly on my waist. I put my hands over his, breaking the kiss. He looks up at me, wonder and confusion in his eyes.

"You can touch me, Daryl," I breathe. "Okay? It's okay."

Permission is all he needed to let go a little more. He's still so guarded, but it's not like we're on some kind of deadline. We're behind a wall. We're safe for the first time in fuck knows how long. For the first time, we have time.

He runs his hands over my hips, up my sides, his eyes silently asking permission each time he reaches new territory. He touches me like I'm the most precious, fragile thing in the world. Like I'm made of paper or glass and, Jesus Christ, I wish he'd just shatter me already.

The slightest touch from him sends me reeling. I've never felt like this in my life, never wanted anything so damn much. I can feel him hardening beneath me, and reach between our bodies, palming him through his jeans.

He tears his lips from mine, panting heavily, eyes wide with panic. Oh, shit. I scramble off his lap, certain every inch of my skin is flaming crimson with shame and embarrassment.

"I.. I'm, I'm sorry," I stammer.

I snatch up the demon shoes I'd spent the evening in and bolt inside, dropping the heels unceremoniously beside the door. It's late enough everyone else is sleeping already. At least, those staying in this house are. I creep my way into the bathroom and stare at myself in the mirror. I take in my flushed cheeks, my slightly swollen, tingling lips, my eternally messy hair. The tears flowing freely down my cheeks. Have I been deluding myself this entire time? What the hell would he want with me?

Guy like Daryl, like some kind of fucking Robin Hood, leather clad Adonis. God, the girls he rolled with before must have been something else. Dark hair and eyes like midnight, the kind that bring men to their knees with a single glance, women with curves hands like Daryl's were made for holding. And I actually thought  _ he _ was nervous to touch  _ me. _ I let out a pathetic little sniffle, sinking to the floor against the wall. There's a quiet knock on the door a few moments later.

"Adie?"

It's Rick. I sigh, reaching up from my place on the floor to open the door. He steps into the room, closing the door behind him.

"Hey," he crouches down in front of me, concerned. "What's wrong?"

"Daryl."

His name tumbles from my lips with a ridiculous little sob before I can stop it, and I bury my face in my hands as fresh tears well in my eyes.

"What about 'im?" Rick asks quietly, taking a seat beside me.

"You'll laugh," I mutter, voice muffled by my hands.

"I won't," he replies emphatically, pulling me into his arms. "I promise you, I won't."

I sigh heavily, wiping the tears away and collecting myself with a fortifying breath.

"It's just… I thought he, that we… that he wanted…" I trail off, not sure how to talk about it or if I even want to. "He doesn't want me the way I want him."

"Bullshit," comes the reply, Rick staring at me indignantly. "Where'd you get that idea from?"

I shoot him a withering look, unwilling to recap the events that led to my conclusion. He looks thoroughly confused for just a moment, then realization dawns on him. I slump against the wall, smacking my head against it a couple times in frustration.

"Oh," he says quietly.

"Yeah," I snort humorlessly. " _ Oh. _ "

"I'm… I'm sure it's just a misunderstandin'," he says, avoiding my eyes.

"No, I think I've got it pretty clear now."

We sit silently for a few minutes. Then I realize how cold I am.

"God," I huff disgustedly, staring down at my dress. "I'm gonna go raid Michonne's closet. Then I'm gonna burn this  _ dress. _ "

I put air quotes around the word dress, getting to my feet and offering a hand to Rick, pulling him up.

"I do think it's all a misunderstandin'," he tells me sincerely, clear blue eyes boring into mine. "He'd have to be deaf, dumb, and blind."

"I think I can't think about it anymore," I murmur. "Every time I think somethin', it's wrong."

"Can I get you to say that again on tape?" He quips, smirking.

"Hell, no," I scoff, opening up the bathroom door and shutting off the light. "I hope you enjoyed that, Grimes, 'cause it'll never happen again."

"Get some sleep," he whispers, chuckling and pulling me into a hug. "We need to talk in the mornin'."

"We meanin' you and me?" I ask hopefully.

He eyes me pointedly and I sigh, the look confirming that yes, Daryl's presence is also required for this talk. At least Rick and Carol will both be there. They can serve as a buffer. Go team.

"Night, Rick."

I shuffle down the hallway and tap softly on Michonne's door. She doesn't answer, so I assume she's sleeping. I tip toe back to Rick's room and try his door. He opens it, clearly having still been up for the 20 seconds it had taken for me to bless him once more with my company.

"I really missed you," he sighs, opening the door for me to step through it.

"I know, I'm a gift," I snark. "Can I borrow somethin' from your closet? I don't wanna wake Michonne and you're already up…" I trail off, shrugging.

He nods his assent and flops onto his bed, leaving me to my own devices. I select a pair of olive green cargo pants and a black t-shirt from his closet.

"Thanks," I whisper, scurrying back to the bathroom.

I pull the dress off, stuff it directly into the trash can, and quickly pull on my borrowed menswear. It's a little roomy, but not so much that I need to worry about the pants falling off. I wash my face and brush my teeth, still thoroughly enamored with the entire tube of cinnamon Crest I get all to myself, and head back downstairs. Daryl's laying on one of the sofas, back towards the room. I don't know if he's sleeping or not, but he remains silent. Probably awake and trying to spare me the embarrassment that would come from talking about what happened. I make my way to the other couch, as far from him as I can manage and still sleep inside, cry silently because I can't help it, and eventually fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.


	60. Let 'Em Look

**Chapter 60**

*Daryl's POV*

"Take your pick," Carol says, producing three handguns from her bag.

Rick called another secret meeting this morning, so avoiding Adrienne ain't really in the cards. I feel like such a fuckin' asshole. She won't look at me and Rick and Carol have been glancing back and forth between the two of us all damn morning.

Adie's eyes are puffy and red-rimmed and I hate myself for it. We'd had a good thing goin', but then she… I can't even think about it. It ain't that I don't want to, I do. Christ, I've thought about it so many times, I just… I don't know what the hell to do with her. I mean, I _know…_ I know where everything goes, but I ain't done it before. Logically, I know she ain't gonna laugh or nothin', but what if she does? She terrifies me. Mostly 'cause I ain't never felt like this about anyone, and I don't wanna fuck it up. I want to be good for her. I love her, but I can't even spit the damn _words_ out, how the fuck am I supposed to-

"Daryl?" Carol snaps me from my thoughts, holding the last of the handguns out for me to take.

"Look, I been thinkin'," I announce, not taking the weapon. "Do we really need these?"

During dinner with Aaron and Eric last night, I'd been thinking about it and I don't think we're gonna need to force anything on these people. I think if we give 'em a chance, they're gonna give us a chance, too. Rick and Carol are staring at me like I've lost my damn mind. Adie's just staring at the ground.

"I mean, things go bad, yeah, sure," I explain. "We do what we gotta do, but it's like you said. We don't need these for that."

"Right now we don't," Carol says flatly.

"You wanted me to try, right?" I ask her, shrugging. "I'm good."

Adie sighs and places her gun back in Carol's bag, walking back towards Alexandria without a word. Rick eyes me, nodding. He stows his gun in the back of his waistband, but doesn't argue with me. He respects my opinion, but he ain't gonna take the risk.

"Okay, then," Carol says, eyes on Adie's retreating form as she tucks her own pistol away. "Did she tell either of you what happened last night?"

Rick's eyes flick towards mine before shaking his head at Carol. I shrug, shuffling uncomfortably.

"Pete Anderson got a little too friendly with her," she sighs, guilt crossing her face.

_ Just some drunk asshole.  _ Christ. Why didn't she tell me?

"What?" Rick demands, brows knitting.

"Yeah, he propositioned her when she was tryin' to leave the party," she adds. "She's hoping she can get a new job assignment. Doesn't wanna be alone with him."

"What, so she was gon' be a nurse?" I question, livid. "The hell she assigned there for?"

"Apparently Deanna didn't know where  _ else _ to put her," she says flatly, clearly not impressed with the way Adie's value has been measured. "Adie doesn't have much work history, she thought it best to place her with someone who could give her some kind of training."

"Fuck that," I snarl, pacing angrily. "Why didn't she say nothin'? I could've done somethin'."

"Because she knew you'd both wanna kill him and she's trying to keep a low profile," Carol counters. "Look, she's trying not to make trouble. She only told me this morning after I found her dress in the trash. She didn't wanna tell anyone, specifically not you two, but I just… I know she thinks she can fight all her battles alone, but Pete's bad news."

"God damn it, I knew he was gonna be a problem," Rick seethes.

"So we gon' take 'im out?" I question, already on my way to kill the motherfucker myself.

"No," Carol says immediately, stopping me with a hand up. "Not yet. We're probably gonna have to eventually, but if we do it  _ now _ we're only shootin' ourselves in the foot."

"I'm gonna go back her up with Deanna," Rick says abruptly, hurrying off to try and catch Adie.

Carol watches him go, then turns her gaze to me.

"So," she says. "You wanna tell me what the hell happened with you two?"

"Nothin'," I mumble, averting my eyes.

"Bullshit. She won't look at you, hasn't said a word around you all morning."

That's all it takes to break the dam wide open. Tears sting my eyes. She softens, brushing my hair out of my face.

"Tell me," she coaxes.

"We had dinner with Aaron and Eric last night 'n when we came back she kissed me."

She eyes me, waiting for the rest of the story.

"She, I dunno, I think she wanted... you know," my face is on fire and I can't look at her anymore.

"Ah," she says. "And you didn't want to?"

"I do," I blurt, face turning a deeper shade of scarlet. "I jus' don't, I ain't never… I dunno what I'm doin', 'n I don't wanna do it wrong."

Carol blinks in surprise, but she don't laugh like I was afraid she was gonna.

"Never?"

I shake my head, embarrassed. If Merle was here, he'd be having himself a damn field day.

"Does she know?"

"Ain't exactly somethin' I wanna admit to."

"So she thinks it's something wrong with her," she points out. "You're gonna have to tell her, Daryl."

"I dunno how," I snap, hating how helpless I sound.

"You don't have to be afraid of her," she says quietly. "You  _ know _ her. You really think she's gonna give a damn if you're a virgin? You have  _ nothing  _ to be ashamed of. She loves you. Just talk to her."

I nod and the two of us head back together. I still ain't told nobody I'm going with Aaron. I feel some type of way about it. Like I'm hiding shit. Truth is, I dunno how they're gonna take it. What if they think I'm turning on them? What if they don't forgive me? I won't admit it out loud, but losing all of 'em… that thought scares me more than dying.

"Daryl?" Carol hesitates, turning towards me as the gates come into view.

"What?"

"You're not gonna do it wrong."

Jesus.

*Adrienne's POV*

"Carol told you," I accuse, eyeing Rick as he falls into step with me just a few yards from Deanna's place.

"Why didn't  _ you _ tell me?" He demands.

"We're supposed to be layin' low," I remind him. "Startin' a fight with the goddamn  _ doctor _ isn't gonna win us any points with upper management here."

" _ Points? _ " He questions derisively. "I don't give a shit about points, this isn't about that. This, this, this is about keepin' our own  _ safe. _ "

"I can handle it."

"He touches you again, Daryl's gonna put him in the ground," he says firmly. "And I'm gonna let 'im."

"Why the hell would Daryl give a shit?" I spit bitterly. "I'm not his problem."

At this point we've reached Deanna's door. Spencer greets us pleasantly, sitting us at the dining table to wait for his mother. She breezes in and kisses our cheeks before taking a seat herself.

"Now," she steeples her hands in front of her, regarding us with sharp eyes. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Well, ma'am, I was hopin' I could talk to you about um… other jobs," I tell her. "I know it doesn't seem like I have a lot to offer, given my-"

"Actually, I was going to talk to you about that," she says, cutting me off. "Pete came to me this morning. He believes you would be… better suited elsewhere within the community."

"I… what?"

"I'm sorry, Adrienne," she says, eyes softening. "Pete feels… uncomfortable with certain behaviors you displayed towards him last night and believes it would be best for his marriage if you were reassigned."

What?! I can feel my cheeks burning. That fucking gutless, low life, scumbag  _ weasel _ .

"The trouble is, I really don't know where to place you," Deanna continues, oblivious. "Where do you feel you could best serve our community?"

"I think your  _ community- _ " I begin, intent on telling this woman exactly what I think of this place, but Rick cuts me off.

"She's our best hand to hand fighter," he announces, eyeing me pointedly. "I've seen her take down armed men twice her size."

He shoots me a look and we confer silently.

_ Rick, that is  _ not _ what happened. He came after me. _

_ I know. Don't push it, we'll get him. This works for us. _

_ How?! _

_ Just trust me. _

_ Fine. _

"Is that so?" Deanna questions, turning her gaze back to me.

"I, uh… I'm trained in self defense," I say, my eyes flicking back to hers.

"I think it's necessary to teach the people here, any of 'em who wanna learn, how to defend themselves," Rick says firmly. "I'd like Adrienne to train with them, run classes. I know you're not ready to allow weapons inside the walls, and I  _ will _ respect that, but she can teach 'em how to defend themselves  _ and _ each other without firing a shot."

"Show me," Deanna commands, eyes bright.

"I… uh, okay," I mutter hesitantly, eyeing Rick.

He nods, and we stand and step away from the table. There's not much space in here, but I can make it work. He and I face each other, Rick smirking and making a finger gun.

"Oh, no, not in here," Deanna says insistently. "Come."

We follow her outside to her front lawn. There are a few people milling about, and Spencer is watching curiously from the porch. Rick and I face off, standing in the middle of the lawn. He once again raises his ridiculous finger gun.

"Okay, so, uh... so I guess I'm gonna, um, demonstrate how to use your body as leverage to take down an attacker," I announce awkwardly, entirely too aware of the small crowd forming around us. "This works on assailants bigger or smaller, so long as it's done properly. I'll do it step by step once and then again in real time, like it would be out there."

I sigh heavily, motioning Rick closer.

"So… you're gonna wanna put your hand here," I explain, placing my right hand on his left shoulder. "And uh, and then move behind your attacker like this," I angle my body behind Rick's, my shoulder blade against his. "And then you're gonna wanna just…" I trail off, opting to show her.

Using my legs, I sweep Rick's out from under him so most of his weight is resting on my back. Then I swivel, completing the maneuver, hurling us both to the ground, flipping myself over on his back with my legs on either side of him, twisting his arms behind him and holding them together like I'm gonna cuff him.

"Goes somethin' like that," I mutter, climbing off of Rick and pulling him up. "But out there, he's gonna be armed, and he's not gonna hold still for me."

Rick and I face off once more, finger gun and all.

"All right," I say, squaring my shoulders. "Come at me."

Rick doesn't hesitate, lunging at me immediately. Our bodies collide and we repeat the process, this time without my babbled, nonsensical play by play. When we get to our feet, we're greeted with a smattering of applause and cheers. It feels so bizarre. This isn't supposed to be fun. This is life or death, not some kind of magic trick. With a start, I realize Daryl's among the group gathered around Deanna's yard. Carol's beside him and they're both staring indignantly at the captive audience.

"That wouldn't work on me," Spencer scoffs from the porch.

"Spencer," Deanna chides.

"You think?" I question, eyeing him. "Why's that?" 

"Well, I'm bigger than he is," he says confidently. "I wouldn't let you get close enough, and if you did I could fight you off."

"All right, get down here and let's see," I challenge, squinting at him.

He takes the bait, strolling down the porch steps like it ain't shit.

"Okay, same formation. Stand across from me," I instruct. "Back up a little. A little more. All right. On three, come at me. One… two… three."

He charges and I take him down so fast it's comical. His own mother is stifling her giggles. I hear Daryl's amused snort and almost look at him, like see that? But then I remember last night and the pain tears through me again. I roll off Spencer's back and offer him my hand. He refuses it, opting to get up on his own.

"That wasn't a fair shot!" He insists. "You knew when I was coming."

"Oh, my god," I huff, annoyed. "Okay, Spence. We'll do it one more time, make it fair. In fact, let's give you the advantage."

I turn my back to him, putting my hands over my ears and closing my eyes. I probably look fucking dumb, but I'm gonna prove this point if I have to wrap my entire head in duct tape.

"Okay," I sigh. "You come at me whenever you're ready, whenever it feels right."

I wait several moments.

"You gonna make me wait all-"

I don't get to finish, he's coming. He attempts to grab my arm, but I whirl around and take him down one more time. The entire process takes less than five seconds. I hold his hands behind him, straddling his back.

"Okay, okay," he grunts. "Okay, you win."

I roll off of him and this time when I offer my hand, he takes it, grinning sheepishly. 

"Damn straight," I smirk.

In the end, Deanna tells Rick and me she needs to think about it. In the meantime, I'm supposed to just hang out and be ready to go wherever I'm needed. Before I can leave the Monroe's, Spencer stops me. He looks apologetic and, evidently, he comes bearing gifts.

"Here," he says, thrusting his guitar into my hands. "I uh, I don't play it. I thought I wanted to learn, but I have, like, zero patience for it. Thought you might like to keep it."

"Are you serious?" I ask, tears springing to my eyes.

"Yeah, totally," he says earnestly. "It's yours."

"Thank you so much," I breathe, genuinely touched.

"Yeah, don't mention it," he says happily. "See you around."

I take off to Rick's place. My place? I don't know, I guess it's just our collective place. I waste no time, tearing into the house and taking a seat in the living room. I strum a few chords, warming up. I pluck at the strings, not sure what to play. Then I decide on my old favorite. It's a bit on the macabre side, given the circumstances, but I still think it's still the greatest song ever written.

"All our times have come…" I sing out softly, delighting in the acoustics of the empty house. "Here but now they're gone… seasons don't fear the reaper, nor do the wind, the sun or the rain. And we can be like they are. Come on baby, don't fear the reaper…"

*Daryl's POV*

"Come on baby, don't fear the reaper. Baby take my hand, don't fear the reaper. We'll be able to fly, don't fear the reaper. Baby I'm your man… laaa la la la la…"

It strikes me as an odd song choice. Don't Fear the Reaper was one of Merle's old favorites. He didn't sing like this, though. I'm captivated. Ain't never heard the song like this, all slowed down and sad. I wait until she's finished before stepping into the room fully. She jumps, whipping around and flushing like she'd been caught doing something awful.

"Jesus," she breathes. "Sorry, you scared me."

Why the fuck is she sorry when I'm the one who startled her?

"Needed to talk to you," I tell her, suddenly unable to look her in the eye.

"You wanna sit?" She questions hesitantly, leaning her guitar against the arm of the sofa.

I cross the room and sit beside her. She shrinks away from me slightly and it's like a kick in the gut. Carol's right. I really hurt her. She thinks something's wrong with her. I wanna tell her it ain't, that nothing's wrong with her. That it's me, that it's always been me, that it's never-

"I'm goin'," I blurt. "Aaron, he wants me to rebuild that bike 'n go out lookin' for more people with 'im."

She's silent, nodding while she processes this new information that ain't even what I fucking came here to tell her.

"Is… is it because of last night?" She questions softly, her voice so small it fucking hurts to hear it.

"Nah."

I try to think of something better to say, but it's like I've forgotten every goddamn word I know.

"When are you leavin'?"

"Soon as I got the bike ready," I mutter. "Shouldn't be gone more 'n a few days at a time."

She nods. She ain't looked me in the eyes once today. Is she doin' this on purpose? Whenever my piece of shit ol' man pissed mom off, she wouldn't talk to him for days. Just shut herself up in her room with a pack of slims and a bottle of cheap wine. Ignored him until he said he was sorry even though she damn well knew he never was. But Adie don't seem mad, she seems sad.

"I'm sorry about last night," she says abruptly. "I… I crossed a line. I thought... I dunno, I'm just sorry. I wasn't thinkin'. I'm sorry."

"Ain't got nothin' to be sorry for."

"Daryl, you-"

"I'm a fuckin' virgin," I blurt, no other way to say it than just outright. "You ain't got nothin' to be sorry for. I jus' ain't never been like that with nobody and you... I didn't know what the hell to do."

"Never?" She asks, finally looking at me.

I just shrug, avoiding her eyes. Truth is, she's the first person I'd ever even so much as held hands with.

"There was this girl when I was in the eighth grade," I sigh. "Hannah. Tried to hold my hand once and I freaked out 'n yelled at her for touchin' me. Like, freaked out. Callin' her names and shit... 'n the next day at school all the other kids… she told all of 'em I liked dudes and… and after that everyone jus' left me be. Never had the chance to do nothin' with a girl even if I wanted to."

"What a bitch," she blurts, and the look on her face… she's so indignant over some dumb shit that happened 20 years ago and I can't help but find it amusing.

"Yeah," I snort. "Yeah, she was."

"Daryl?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm not gonna tell everyone you're gay if you don't wanna sleep with me," she quips, smiling sadly. "Or hold my hand."

"Nah, you don't get it," I tell her, taking her hand in mine. "It ain't that I don't wanna."

She looks at me, eyes wide. She really don't get it. She's… she's  _ it. _ Forever. She makes me question everything I ever thought I knew about myself, everything I thought I was. She makes me better. I'm learning to be  _ comfortable _ around her and that scares the shit outta me. Maybe one day I'll be able to tell her all that, but as long as she'll have me, as long as I'm breathing, I'm hers. She's  _ it. _

She presses her lips to mine and it feels like home. I know she ain't gonna laugh. I trust her. I pull her closer, kissing her with an urgency I've never felt before. She lets me take the lead, not taking more than I'm willing to give, and I don't know what the hell I'm doing, but I know it's gonna be okay because, fuck, it's  _ Adrienne _ and she's it. I pull her onto my lap, tangling my fingers in her hair, for once not worried about a goddamn thing aside from being as close to her as possible.

Then the door opens.

"God, not on the couch, you guys," Glenn groans, equal parts horrified and amused, as he passes through to the kitchen.

I freeze. Both my hands have somehow wound up under her shirt, resting over the swell of her hips, and I don't remember deciding to put them there and holy fucking shit her skin is soft and oh, my god, Glenn must think I'm fucking  _ mauling _ her. My ears are on fire and her cheeks are flushed and I'm  _ mortified. _ She chuckles quietly, kissing me once more and pressing her forehead to mine.

"Come on," she says softly. "We got a bike to build." She gets to her feet, pulling me with her. She ain't ashamed, and Glenn ain't saying shit, and I feel my embarrassment fade just a little bit. She takes my hand in hers, lacing our fingers together, and we walk hand in hand, in broad daylight, heading four houses down the street to Aaron's. People might see. People are  _ gonna _ see and know that this girl who somehow looks like both heaven and hell and could do so much better than me, this girl lets  _ me _ touch her. Fuck it. Let 'em look.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is Don't Fear The Reaper by Blue Oyster Cult


	61. The Real World

**Chapter 61**

*Adrienne's POV*

I don't know how my heart could be more full. Despite Glenn killing the moment, I've been on cloud nine since yesterday morning. I spent all afternoon and into the evening in Aaron's garage with Daryl, handing him tools and parts as needed. He'd nearly finished with the bike by dinnertime, and we'd been invited to stay for supper with Aaron and Eric. It was a good night.

This morning, however, can blow me. The power's out, so me, Eugene, Tara, Noah, Glenn, Aiden, and Nicholas are going out on a supply run to get some kind of weird batteries only Eugene can identify for the solar panels. We're not going far, there's a warehouse nearby that should house such things, but anything can happen outside those walls.

The bike is gassed up and ready to go. Daryl and Aaron are leaving on their run, too, and I'm petrified. Huge downside to falling in love during the apocalypse? Knowing at any moment, your person could be ripped away from you forever, that every precious second with them could be the last. Aaron has assured me he's made these journeys many times without running into any trouble, but this does little to ease the anxiety rampaging through my being. All it takes is one moment.

"Be safe," I whisper, stealing a quick kiss from Daryl before he mounts his bike. "Come  _ home. _ "

He nods, chewing his lip. I know I tell him the same shit every time he leaves, and returning is a promise he can't make, but I guess somehow it feels like saying it out loud increases the likelihood that it will manifest itself. All too soon, he's starting up the bike and I'm peering pathetically through the gap between the gate and the wall while he and Aaron speed away, becoming smaller and smaller the distance before disappearing from my sight altogether.

"He'll be back, Adie," Carol says, taking my hand and leading me away from the gate.

She's right. He'll be back. He always comes back. And I can't afford to think otherwise. I need to keep my head together for the run so I come back, too. Make sure I'm not the reason someone else doesn't make it. I collect myself and head over to Olivia's, where the rest of the run crew are gathering supplies for the trip. Glenn vouched for me pretty hard with Deanna. He's the only reason I get to go. I'm not gonna fuck it up.

"Micro-invertor," I muse, eyeing what looks, to me at least, like nothing more than a little black plastic box.

According to Eugene, though, these things are key to our continued survival. I disagree. They're just the key to electricity. We can survive without it. We  _ have. _ Before Eugene can wax poetic about the power grid, Noah's thrusting a gun towards him. A simple handgun, complete with a suppressor.

"Oh, no thank you," Eugene declines.

"Just take it," Nicholas sighs, walking past with an emergency food kit for the van.

"Come on, you gotta protect yourself," Noah encourages.

"Not if I don't go," Eugene counters.

"What the hell do you mean, if you don't go?" I demand. "We  _ need _ you."

"We're not driving all that way so we can just drive back with the wrong shit," Aiden agrees.

"It's a dozen of these," Eugene informs us, holding up the micro-invertor. "They are consistent in appearance across manufacturers. The shit will be right. I, I will install said shit."

Aiden scoffs and walks away, unimpressed.

"Then the grid will be fully operational again," Eugene insists.

"You're comin' with us," I hiss, Noah pressing the gun sideways against his chest, forcing the man to take it.

"Adie," Tara calls, emerging from the garage. "Heads up."

She tosses a pack in my direction, which I catch, and she and Noah fall into step beside me as I load it into the van.

"Heard you talking to Holly last night," Tara announces, gleaming eyes on Noah. "What's her story?"

Holly's a former co-ed. She's cute. Wanted to be a lawyer before all this. I like her.

"Why do you ask?" Noah questions evasively.

"No reason," Tara grins, most definitely smitten with Holly.

"Mhmm," Noah scoffs, turning back to the garage.

"It's an innocent question," Tara protests, hurling herself at his back. "Don't make me hurt you."

Maggie catches my eye and we share a chuckle, watching our friends continue to banter. It's damn good to see them happy. Our people could thrive here, given the chance. We're ready. The people here are weak, but we can help make them strong. Aiden's saying a quick goodbye to his parents, who stopped by to make sure we've got everything we need. We do. Glenn made a checklist, which I modified to include _Adie's_ _big guns_ scrawled across the bottom.

"Take care, Dad," Aiden says, offering his parents a carefree little wave as he hops behind the wheel.

"I'm supposed to be saying that to you," Reg says, nonplussed.

"That's everything?" Glenn questions.

"Almost," I tell him, dragging Eugene into the back of the van with me.

I settle myself on the back wheel well and flex an arm pointedly.

"There," I smirk. " _ That's _ everything."

Glenn just scoffs, turning to say his goodbyes, first to Maggie, then to Deanna and Reg.

"Daylight's burning," Aiden hollers. "Let's go."

He fires up the van, Nicholas in the passenger seat, the rest of us settling into the back.

"So, seriously, though, what's her story?" Tara asks, still attempting to wheedle info on Holly from Noah.

Before he can respond, however, Aiden's cranking the volume on a truly godawful dance mix he put together to pump himself up for runs.

"Great," Noah sighs. "Another mix."

"Now you're going to die," an electronic voice informs us, filtering out of the speakers just before the bass drops.

"That's cheerful," I scoff.

"Helps draw 'em away," Glenn points out.

That it does. I have to admit, it surprises me that Aiden was smart enough to figure that one out before we came along.

-

By the time we reach our destination, I never want to hear another techno beat again. Ever. We all pile out of the van, loading up our weapons and taking in the scenery. It's not great, but there aren't any walkers in sight, which makes the view downright gorgeous.

"That's it there?" Tara questions, eyeing the dilapidated building.

"That's the warehouse," Aiden confirms, pointing to a door marked employees only. "Looks like that door is our fastest way in and out."

"We should know all the exits first," Glenn says. "So there's a plan if things go south."

"Already got one," Nicholas informs him, tone dripping with condescension. "It's called going out the front."

"Don't ever let anyone tell you you're not smart, Nicky," I smirk wryly. "We don't know if we can  _ get _ to the front."

"Noah, heads up," Tara says, gesturing to a single walker shambling towards us, before Nicholas can retort.

"Got it," Noah sighs, firing a silenced round into its head.

"Look at you with the aim," Aiden grins, genuinely impressed. "Glenn's right. We should do a perimeter check. Know our exits, just in case."

Nicholas doesn't seem too pleased with his buddy's new and improved attitude towards us, but what's he gonna do? He's the last person in line to take charge of this crew, and that includes Eugene, which is saying something. We split off, Glenn and Noah towards the front of the building, Aiden and Nicholas to the east side, Tara, Eugene, and me to the back and west side.

There's not much here. A maintenance access door on the west side, but it's not an option. It's been barricaded shut by a forklift, and it's not worth the effort to attempt to clear the door. There are a couple loading docks in the back we could use in a pinch, though. We only run into one more walker, which Tara takes down without any fuss.

"So you're aware," Eugene starts, eyeing the corpse on the ground. "I'm on record as statin' that I should not be here."

Tara and I exchange a withering look, falling into step with our wimpy companion.

"You well know that I'm not combat ready or even, for that matter, combat inclined," he continues.

"You never are 'til you are," Tara sighs. "But you gotta start pulling your weight, you know? I did."

Eugene comes to a halt, visibly affronted.

"What?" Tara demands.

"All things bein' equal, I do believe my weight's been pulled," he announces. "I got you all to DC, which, in this man's opinion, is damn near nirvana by current standards."

"Are you kiddin' me?" I demand. " _ You  _ got  _ us _ here? You can't possibly believe that."

" _ We _ got  _ you  _ here," Tara snaps, and we keep moving.

"But were it not for me and my mention of this city's potential for home and hearth, not a one of you would've had the vision to come here, let alone the cojones to travail such a fraught and punishin' pilgrimage. And that, sisters, is a fact. That's as cold and hard as they come."

"Shut up," I whirl on him, incensed. "Just shut the hell up.  _ Abraham saved you. _ You want cold, hard facts, huh?  _ Brother? _ All those people that died tryin' to get you to this city? Their blood is on  _ your  _ hands. You can twist it however you want to ease your conscience, but you're nothin' but a con, cashin' in on the hopes of better men. If it weren't for us, you'd've been dead a long time ago, so you damn well better start showin' some gratitude."

"I did not force any of you to save me," he shrugs.

I can't wrap my head around this. He genuinely thinks he's done us all a favor. That because Alexandria happens to be just outside DC, he's absolved. I turn on my heel and head back towards the van, Tara and Eugene falling into step behind me.

"God, you're really that much of a coward?" Tara scoffs, disgusted.

"Yes, I am," Eugene insists. "I told you I was."

"You have the potential to be so much more!" I explode, internally cursing myself for losing my cool. "You  _ owe  _ us," I inform him quietly. "Abraham, especially. If it were me, I'd've left your ass on that roadside in Georgia. But he didn't, and now you're gonna  _ make _ somethin' of yourself, 'cause you're part of us now, and that's who  _ we  _ are."

He remains silent all the way back to the van. Probably best. Every time he opens his mouth, I wanna hit him. Glenn informs us there's a whole swarm of walkers out front. We're not getting out that way. If, for some reason, we're unable to get out the way we came in, we'll go for the loading docks. We cluster around the employees only door and Glenn pushes it open, banging on the wall to lure any unseen occupants from the building.

"Give it another second," he murmurs, raising his hand. "It's a big place. There could be some inside."

"So let's say they are," Aiden says softly. "Let's move. Let's be safe."

"All right," Glenn nods, entering the building.

We file inside behind him, flashlight beams cutting through the darkness, illuminating shelves upon shelves upon shelves of shrink-wrapped packages. This place could be a gold mine. We could come back again and again, if it's clear enough.

"Adie?" Glenn whispers.

"What?"

"You got it?"

"We got this aisle."

Tara, Eugene, and I split into one aisle, Glenn, Noah, Aiden, and Nicholas into the other. Everything seems fine, until it doesn't. There's walkers here, just like everywhere else, their groans and snarls echoing through the building, impossible to pinpoint in such a large space. I stop in my tracks, Eugene stumbling into me. I reach out to steady him, listening intently.

"They're stuck behind something," Glenn whispers, still one aisle over.

"How do you know?" Aiden questions.

"I don't," Glenn admits. "But they aren't here."

He's right. If they weren't trapped, they'd have been drawn right to the flashlights. We're good.

"All right," he whispers. "Hey, let's go. Eyes up."

We all start to move, meeting each other at the ends of the aisles and continuing towards the next two over. Before we split again, though, the snarls become frenzied. We're close. I just don't realize how close until several walkers hurl themselves against the chain link fence that sanctions off part of the warehouse. There are dozens, but it's not enough to push through. Not yet.

"Clear," Glenn mutters.

"Clear," Aiden nods. "You know your stuff."

"We were out there a long time," Tara points out.

"There could be more," Glenn cautions.

"Yeah, and these loud assholes are gonna draw 'em right to us," I muse. "I dunno how many that fence'll hold back."

"Let's get to work," Aiden suggests.

"You're up," Tara announces, shining her light at Eugene.

He's terrified, staring at the growling corpses in horror.

"C'mon, man," I sigh. "You've seen plenty of these things before, let's go."

I grab his elbow, tugging him along to the next aisle. He, Tara, and I make our slow way down the row, shining our lights on every box, Eugene giving each label a cursory glance before moving on to the next. Glenn and Noah are the next aisle over, Nicholas and Aiden having stayed to watch the fence.

"This one here," Eugene announces, tapping a box about halfway down the row.

I take a step back, watching each end of the aisle while Tara takes a box cutter to the package and retrieves a micro-invertor from within. Eugene snatches it from her hands, giving it the once over.

"Yeah," he confirms.

"We found 'em," Tara calls softly, Noah and Glenn's faces appearing on the other side of the shelf between two stacks of boxes.

"Here's another," Tara says, unearthing a second one, spilling packing peanuts all over the concrete floor.

"All right, Eugene," Glenn cheers, grinning happily.

Then the muffled sounds of several suppressed bullets whiz through the air. Shit. I scramble to the end of my aisle, peering through the shelves at the scene. Aiden, backing himself into a corner as a walker in military gear shuffles its way closer to him.

"It's got armor," Glenn points out. "Let it come closer."

"I got it," Aiden insists, shooting a round into each of the walker's knees.

The corpse hits the ground, which should be Aiden's cue to drive a knife through its skull, but he doesn't. He keeps right on shooting, which is a supremely shitty idea due to the fucking  _ grenade _ strapped to the walker's sleeve.

"Aiden, stop!" Glenn hisses. "Stop!"

It's too late. Aiden's next bullet hits the grenade and there's an explosion of heat and light, then everything is black. The next thing I'm aware of are my lungs collapsing in my chest. That's what it feels like, anyway. I frantically attempt to suck in air, but it's like my body has forgotten the motion, sending an error message to my brain while I suffocate. Just when I think I'm gonna pass out, though, air suddenly floods my lungs, oxygen coursing through my body.

I open my eyes, trying to get my bearings. The force of the explosion had sent me careening into the shelves behind me, and I lay in a heap on the ground. I wiggle my fingers and toes, and, upon finding them functional, bend each of my elbows and knees. No breaks, then. That's good. My head stings like a motherfucker, though. I press two fingers to the epicenter of the pain, just above my right eyebrow. I'm bleeding.

"Son of a bitch!" I snarl, grabbing hold of the shelf and pulling myself to my feet.

"Adie!" Glenn chokes from somewhere in the wreckage.

"I'm okay," I assure him, eyes sweeping the hazy room for the rest of my friends.

"Oh, god," Nicholas's murmurs, horrified. "Oh, god. He's dead."

I swivel my head in the direction of his voice only to spot Aiden, impaled on the broken, jagged metal framework of one of the shelves. But we're about to have a much bigger problem. The fence is down. They're coming.

"Glenn?" I call out. "Noah, Tara, Eugene, they're comin'."

I make my way down the aisle, stumbling over the boxes, packing peanuts, and rotted body parts littering the floor. Eugene snatches my hand and pulls me toward him, his hand like a vice grip on my fingers.

"Are you okay?" I question, scanning his body for any sign of grievous injury.

"You're bleedin'," he croaks, eyes wide with terror.

"I know," I huff, shaking my hand free of his. "It's nothin', I'm fine. Where's Tara?"

I peer in the direction he points and my heart lodges itself in my throat. She's unconscious, spread eagle on the floor, blood seeping from her head and pooling beneath her.

"Adie," Glenn calls out. "Where are you guys?"

"Here!" Eugene hollers. "Over here."

"Jesus," I breathe, clambering over the boxes separating Tara from me and Eugene.

"Is she breathing?" Glenn demands, he and Noah materializing on the other side of the shelf.

I drop to my knees at her side, taking her hand in mine and checking for a pulse.

"She's breathin'," I announce. "I got a pulse, but it's weak."

"They're getting close!" Nicholas shouts.

"We gotta get her outta here," I hiss. "Now. Eugene, help me."

Eugene's not listening and my already thin patience stretches to nothing.

"Eugene!" I snarl, eyes snapping up to see what the hell his problem is.

"Walker," he squeaks. "Walker!"

Oh, hell. There's walkers on either end of the aisle, and Eugene is oblivious to the one about to bear down on his back. Shit. I jump to my feet, pulling out my Glock and firing a round into the walker on my side of the aisle before hurling myself over the boxes to help Eugene. I'm too late, though. Glenn and Noah managed to wriggle their way through the shelf, the two of them taking out the walker about to make a meal out of Eugene before I could get to him.

"Get to that office," Glenn orders, Noah helping Eugene to his feet. "We'll get Tara. Go!"

Noah, Nicholas, and Eugene make a break for the office while Glenn and I hop over the boxes. He takes her legs and I take her shoulders, resting her head up against my stomach.

"Is the other side clear?" I question, eyeing the debris in the middle of the aisle uncertainly.

"Clearer," Glenn mutters.

The two of us tighten our hold on Tara and make a run for it, down the aisle and around the corner, turning into the next row over and tearing into the office. Noah sweeps the desk clear and we gently lay Tara down on top of it as Nicholas yanks the door closed.

"How's she doing?" Glenn asks desperately.

"She has serious head trauma," Eugene announces. "She's losin' blood fast."

"How do we stop it?" Noah demands.

"Med kit was in Aiden's pack," Nicholas says. "It got blown to hell.

I shrug out of my flannel and thrust it into Eugene's hands, lifting Tara's head so he can wrap it.

"There's another one in the van," Glenn points out.

"She's on her way out," Eugene says frantically. "We need to get her there."

"All right, we'll get her there," Glenn soothes.

"Help! Somebody!"

"Holy shit," I breathe, peering through the blinds in the window. "He's alive!"

Aiden's alive. We can't leave him.

"Oh, Jesus," Nicholas groans. "I checked him, I, I thought, I, I…"

"You didn't check him very well, then, did you?" I snap.

"We've gotta get him," Noah murmurs.

"It's gonna take at least three of us," Glenn says, he and I exchanging a glance.

"We got that kinda time?" Noah asks, eyeing Tara with concern.

"We pull Aiden off there, we could kill him," Nicholas stammers.

"So you're saying we leave him?" Noah demands.

"We leave 'im there, he dies for sure," I hiss.

"Go," Eugene orders. "Save him. She'd do it, I know she would. I'll stay with her. I'll keep her safe, I assure you. I will."

"All right," Glenn nods. "We'll knock 'em back. You still have that flare?"

"Yeah," Nicholas confirms.

"You fire the flare over the shelves. That'll draw some of 'em over. Adie, will you stay?"

I nod grimly, seeing no other choice. Eugene freezes when he's scared, we can't leave him alone with Tara. Nicholas can't be trusted to save anyone, he just left his best friend to die. That leaves me or Noah, and Noah's leg is messed up from the car accident he'd been in before Grady. Once it's clear enough, we need to grab Tara and  _ run. _

"We'll meet you at the van," I assure him. "You're not there in ten minutes, I'm comin' for you."

"All right," Glenn agrees, crossing to the door, Noah and Nicholas on his heels. "We're gonna hit the rest hand to hand. You ready?"

"Yeah," Nicholas nods, already aiming the flare gun.

"One, two, three," Glenn counts off, then flings the door open.

Nicholas fires the flare and the three men take off, slamming the door shut behind them.

"I take no responsibility for this," Eugene snaps, and I whirl on him, ready to chew him out again until I see that he's talking to Tara. "I told you what I was. You should've listened," his eyes flicker to mine. "All of you," he hisses. "All of you should've listened!"

"What, you want an apology for thinkin' you're better than you are?" I demand. "You promised you'd keep her safe, you're gonna make good on that. Right now. You keep her safe, I  _ promise  _ you, I'll keep you safe. Can you do this?"

He's frightened and sweating bullets, but he nods.

"Okay," I murmur. "Okay. I'm gonna need you to carry her on your own, over the shoulder so you can keep your gun out. It's better if I've got both hands free. You ready?"

He's ready. He lifts Tara from the table, heaving her, as gently as he can manage, over one shoulder while I crack the door open, peering around to be sure the coast is clear. I dip my chin at him and he creeps through the door. I'm already relieved. I wasn't sure he'd even make it this far. But he did, and he keeps going, glancing over his shoulder at me. I nod encouragingly and he's moving, one step at a time towards the exit.

We're gonna be okay. We're gonna get her there. I take out a couple walkers, surprised when Eugene manages to shoot two more down as we reach the door. We're clear. The two of us sprint towards the van. I fling open the back doors and Eugene hurtles inside, laying Tara down and immediately breaking open the med kit. If she can just hold on a little longer, if we can get her home… I circle the van, scanning the area for walkers, growing increasingly more alarmed as the minutes go by. Three minutes, no sign of 'em. Five minutes. Seven. Ten.

I'm about to run back inside to find them when I hear it. Feverish snarls of a whole hell of a lot more walkers, swelling into a singular frenzied howl. It's coming from the front of the building. They went out the front doors. Jesus Christ. They'll never make it out. Not without help.

"Eugene, keep her as still as you can," I command, hurling myself into the driver's seat.

I turn the keys in the ignition, the engine roaring to life, and hit the gas, peeling through the backlot, up and over the curb into the front. Sure enough, they'd come out this way. They just hadn't made it past the turnstile door. Walkers are swarming the entrance, they're trapped. We're gonna have to draw them away. I power the stereo on, the driving bass beat of Aiden's run mix pumping out of the speakers.

"Hey!" I yell, honking the horn incessantly and pounding the side of the door. "Hey, over here! Come on, you stupid pricks! Hey!"

It's working. The walkers are breaking off, leaving the door for easier, or at least louder, prey.

"Come on!" I holler, inching the van further from the door. "That's right, come on! I'm the Pied fuckin' Piper! Eyes over here, shitheads! Let's go, let's go, let's go! Move it!"

I continue shrieking nonsense, laying on the horn while I creep across the lot, the walkers drawn like moths to flame. I lead them out of the lot and across the street. That should give them enough time to get free and make a run for the back of the building. Soon as we've made it out far enough, I cut the stereo and floor it, circling around to the backlot.

"Hey!" Nicholas shouts, flying towards the van. "Hey!"

He's alone. Where the hell are Glenn and Noah? Son of a bitch.

"Move over!" Nicholas orders as he reaches the door. "We're leaving."

"Like hell we are!" I snap, pulling the keys from the ignition and shoving them into my pocket.

I slide out of the van, intent on going back for Glenn and Noah, but Nicholas is blocking me. God damn it.

"Look, I don't have  _ time  _ to kick your ass, where are they?"

"Get back in the van!"

"Not until you tell her where they are," Eugene blurts from inside the van, backing me up in a show of camaraderie that, under less dire circumstances, would be genuinely touching.

"Either you come back with me," Nicholas hisses, staring down his nose at me. "Or you stay here and you die with your friends. Those are your choices."

"Either we  _ all _ leave, or none of us do," I snap, stepping up against him, nose to nose. "Where are they?"

He grabs at my waist, attempting to jam his hand into my pocket and steal the keys. I duck under his arm, dancing my way around him. He whirls on me, cocking his fist. He's gonna hit me. And I'm gonna have to hit him harder. At least, I would have, if Glenn hadn't chosen this exact moment to come hurtling across the lot. He hurls his fist at Nicholas's face, knocking him to the ground before dropping to his knees and hitting him twice more. He gets to his feet and I realize he's sobbing.

"Help me get him in the back," Glenn huffs, voice hoarse and cracking.

"Where's Noah?" Eugene questions, emerging from the trunk.

Glenn can't answer. But we know.

"Get up," I snarl, roughly yanking Nicholas to his feet and shoving him into the back of the van beside Tara.

I confiscate his weapons and take my place behind the wheel. Glenn's beside himself, slumped in the passenger side, staring at his bloody hands, eyes seeing something else. I drag the backs of my hands across my eyes, wiping away the hot tears escaping me.

"Eugene," I hiss over my shoulder, starting the van. "Keep your gun out. He makes one wrong move,  _ one... _ shoot 'im."

I don't bother waiting for a response. We've got a long drive to make and if we don't get home soon, we'll lose Tara, too. I floor it. We're gonna get her there. We're not losing anybody else,  _ I'm  _ not. I can't. By the time we make it to the gates, it already feels too late.

"Help!" Glenn screams, hurling himself from the van. "I need help!"

The sound that leaves Deanna's body when she realizes who's missing is so like the howl I'd heard from Carol that day Sophia came out of the barn it's like I'm there all over again, yanked from one reality and thrust into another, both connected by a single, binding thread. Tara's whisked off to the infirmary and I collapse into the first warm body I see.

"Come on," Rick murmurs, stroking my hair soothingly, leading me and Glenn to our porch. "What happened?"

*Daryl's POV*

We've been out a full day now and we ain't come across jack shit. Still, the break from Alexandria is welcome. If Rick and Carol weren't there, I'd never have left Adie. Not with Pete breathing. Actually, the longer we're away, the more I've been thinking I should ask Aaron if we could use a third recruiter. The thought of him touching her makes me itch. If something happens and I ain't there, I'm gonna- oh, what the hell? Aaron and I have just stepped into a small clearing. It's littered with body parts. Legs, arms… bodies torn apart. Fresh. But it's just legs and arms. No heads, no torsos...

"Whoever did this took what was left with 'em," I announce. "This just happened."

We keep moving, watching for any signs that we ain't alone. That whoever did this is still here. There's nothing. Except… shit. The body of a woman, naked and bound to a tree, her insides spilling out of her mutilated stomach. It's sick.

"She's tied up," Aaron observes, horrified. "And they fed on her. Tore her apart. This just happened?"

"Yeah," I nod solemnly, stepping closer to examine the body.

"How the hell did this happen?" He breathes as I lift the woman's head.

Jesus. Like that other walker at Rick's meeting place, there's a  _ 'W' _ carved into this woman's forehead. What the hell's it mean? Before I can get a closer look, the body starts breathing, snarling, its milky, dead eyes fluttering open. I drive my knife through its head and we leave this place. Adie's right.

This  _ is _ some Manson Family shit.

*Adrienne's POV*

I don't fucking believe it. The people here are delusional. If those walls had gone up any later than they did, there's no doubt in my mind they would all be dead. Or maybe somewhere between alive and dead. Deanna blames Glenn for her son's death. Nicholas spun some story about Glenn distracting Aiden while he was trying to take down the walker with the grenade, told her he had to sacrifice Noah to save himself because Glenn and Noah were gonna leave him otherwise.

The reality is, her people are  _ weak. _ And selfish. Nicholas got scared and ran when all he had to do was hold the damn door long enough for Glenn to break the glass. That's it. He just had to hold the fucking door and Noah would... Nicholas is a coward and Aiden was too prideful to cooperate and  _ that's _ why he and Noah are both dead. Why Glenn had to watch our friend get torn to pieces right in front of him.

On top of all this, Rick's developed some kind of crush on Jessie. Sasha's going off the deep end, the priest is being cagey, Carol's been threatening small children… we might be safe here, but we are falling apart.  _ Jessie. _ I can't wrap my head around it. What's he even see in her? Someone else he has to protect? She sure as hell isn't protecting herself. Or her kids. Sam asked Carol for a gun, for Christ's sake! She's  _ married. _ Married to a wife beating piece of shit, but married nonetheless. The only silver lining right now is Tara. She's holding on.

Deanna forbade anyone on the run crew from leaving for the time being. I don't feel much like playing my guitar and I've finished mending everyone's clothes, so I'm just strolling the streets. I can't stay inside. If I'm still, all I think about is Noah. How I failed him. How it should've been me. How Nicholas ran, left him and Glenn for dead. If I'm still, I think of all the people who are gone and the people who are still here and it's not fucking fair. I need to keep moving.

I'm making a third pass in front of the Anderson's house when a window breaks and two men tumble out into the street.

"Oh, for Christ's sake!" I snarl, hurling myself towards them.

Rick and Pete are on the ground, beating the holy hell out of each other.

"What happened?" Carol cries as she approaches, Sam ducking behind her for comfort.

"I dunno, I just got here," I point out, attempting to find an in.

If I can get between them, this might still be salvageable. Jessie apparently has the same idea, desperately trying to pull her husband off of Rick. Pete hurls a punch at her face. She goes down, which infuriates Rick, and he pulls Pete into a choke hold. He's not letting go, and Pete is turning an alarming shade of purple. He needs to be dealt with, no question, but not here. Not like this, not in front of his kids, not with Deanna already on the warpath.

"Rick!" I roar, and his crazed eyes slide to mine. "Rick, you're gonna kill 'im. Stop! Jesus Christ, stop it!"

This seems to break him out of his frenzy, albeit momentarily. Just in time, too. Deanna's here.

"You touch them again and I'll kill you," he snarls.

"Damn it, Rick!" Deanna screams. "Stop it!"

"Or what?" Rick demands, whipping out his contraband pistol and aiming it at her. "You gonna kick me out?"

Oh, for the love of god, here we go. I back up slightly, keeping my eyes on Pete, still on the ground, just in case he decides to try anything.

"Put that gun down, Rick," Deanna says calmly.

"You still don't get it," he says breathlessly. "None of you do! We know what needs to be done and we do it. We're the ones who live. You! You just  _ sit _ and  _ plan _ and  _ hesitate. _ You pretend like you know when you don't!"

No one can argue with that. The people of Alexandria might demonize us, blame us for the loss of one of their own, but… they don't know true loss. They don't know hunger, what it's like out there when you haven't had food or water or sleep in  _ days, _ walkers and truly bad people around every fucking corner. They don't know what it's like to drive a knife into the brain of someone you love because there's nothing else you can do for them.

"You wish things weren't what they are," Rick continues. "Well, you wanna live? You want this place to stay standing? Your way of doin' things is done! Things don't get better because you, you  _ want _ them to. Starting right now, we have to live in the real world. We have to control who lives here."

"That's never been more clear to me than it is right now," Deanna spits.

"Me?" Rick questions, laughing in utter disbelief. "Me?! You, you mean, you mean me? Your way is gonna destroy this place. It's gonna get people killed, it's  _ already  _ gotten people killed. Now, I'm not gonna just stand by and just let it happen. If you don't fight, you die. I'm not gonna stand by and-"

He doesn't get to finish. Michonne's had just about enough. She knocks him out, snatching the gun as he drops to the ground.

"Jesus," I breathe, dropping to my knees beside him.

He's out cold. Just knocked out, he'll be fine. All's well that ends well, I guess.

"Get him out of here," Deanna orders. "Both of them. Jessie, take your children home."

"Help me move him," Michonne commands, grabbing his legs.

I take his arms, his head lolling against my torso as the two of us haul his ass to a makeshift holding cell in one of the unfinished brownstones, where we place him on a foam bedroll. Rosita brings me a first aid kit and I patch him up as best I can, Michonne regarding me cooly.

"Did you know about the gun?"

I ignore the question, bandaging Rick's hand while night falls around us.

"Are you carrying?" She asks sharply.

"No," I tell her. "You can frisk me when I'm done here."

"Did you know?" She demands.

Before I can answer, Carl comes shuffling inside. Good, now I can leave. I can't tell her, Carol will have my head. Rick, too. But Michonne's not stupid. Of course I knew about the gun.

"This conversation isn't over, Adie," she promises as I practically sprint out the door.


	62. Fact Is, I'm Lost

**Chapter 62**

I decide to spend the night perched atop the porch railing, thinking. I can't sleep. Not right now. I wonder idly what Daryl's up to. Please be safe. The neighborhood is quieter than usual, the events of today having sent everyone inside early. With the exception, apparently, of Jessie, who is now climbing up the steps. She's teary and exhausted, her arms crossed protectively in front of her body.

"He's not here," I say flatly.

"I know."

"Then why are  _ you _ here?" I demand.

"I came to talk to you," she whispers, her eyes meeting mine.

"I don't think we have much to talk about."

"Look, you might not like me-"

"I don't," I interrupt, turning my eyes back to the sky. "I don't like you."

"Wow," she nods, taken aback. "Okay. Can I ask you why? You don't even know me."

"Carol spent yesterday afternoon with Sam," I tell her coldly, my eyes flashing. "Did you know he wanted a gun? He's so  _ terrified _ of your husband he thinks he needs a gun to protect you. How old is he, ten? Protectin' you isn't his job, it's  _ yours. _ If you came lookin' for sympathy, you may as well go home 'cause you're not gonna find it here."

I killed my dad. I killed him and I can't sleep without seeing his face anymore. The way I left it, just a foaming, bloody mess. Sam shouldn't have to go through that. I'm not gonna tell her, though. I can't. I don't owe this woman my story, and telling her wouldn't make a damn bit of difference anyway.

"Can you just tell me if Rick is okay?" She questions, tears spilling down her cheeks.

"He's fuckin'  _ peachy, _ not that it's your business," I spit. "Why don't you go home and worry about your kids? Start tryin' to make up for not keepin' 'em safe like you're supposed to."

She leaves. I don't feel bad in the slightest.

"You didn't have to be mean to her, Adie," Glenn murmurs, appearing seemingly out of nowhere and scaring the shit out of me.

I hadn't seen him in the darkness. He ascends the steps and collapses into the gray wicker porch chair.

"I wasn't mean," I counter. "I was honest. What's she think is gonna happen to her sons when Pete kills her?"

He just nods, too tired to argue. The exhaustion is written all over his face. His whole body, really.

"Where's Maggie?"

"Sleeping," he mutters, rubbing his temples. "I can't."

"Yeah, I can't either."

We fall silent for a while. Could have been 15 minutes, could've been two hours. Time means almost nothing anymore.

"Hey, Glum?"

"Hm?"

"When you… when you're on runs, how do you handle leavin' Maggie?" I ask quietly. "Knowin' you might not get to see her again?"

"If you think like that, every moment you have with him is pointless," he murmurs, meeting my eyes. "You just gotta be there, you know? Every minute, every second you're alive, with him, just… just be there. And trust that Daryl's gonna fight like hell to come back. He will. It's  _ Daryl. _ The dude's got nine lives."

I consider his words, the two of us growing quiet once more. Nine lives. I wish I believed that. He's the toughest person I've ever met, but he's  _ human. _ He's just a man. If he doesn't come back, I don't know what I'm gonna do. I try to push the bad thoughts out of my head, put that shit in a box and deal with it later. The reality is, we don't know if we're even welcome here anymore. Deanna could exile us all at any moment, and Daryl may well come back to find us gone. What then? Would he stay? My thoughts go around and around and around…

-

The sun's up. I haven't slept. Glenn eventually had gone home to Maggie, and I sat all night on my perch, wide awake and worrying.

"Morning," Carol calls from her porch next door, startling me from my thoughts.

Abraham is beside her. They're headed over to check on Rick. I join them, the three of us silently tromping our way down the street. Glenn meets us at the door and we head inside. He's conscious, being interrogated by Michonne.

"Where'd you get the gun?"

Rick doesn't answer right away, glancing up at me. Probably trying to figure out if I told her. Before he can say anything, Carol steps in.

"You took it, right?" She asks innocently. "From the armory? That was stupid. Why did you do it?"

"Just in case," he sighs.

"Deanna's planning to have a meeting tonight," Glenn informs us. "For anyone who wants to."

"To kick Rick out?" Abraham questions.

"To try," Carol says.

"We don't know that," Glenn says calmly. "Maggie's with Deanna right now. She's gonna find out what it is."

"It's a trial," I huff, sighing heavily and slumping down beside Rick on his mattress pad. "At best."

"At the meeting, you say you were worried about someone being abused and no one was doing anything about it," Carol instructs. "You say you took a gun just to be sure that Jessie was safe from a man who wound up attacking you. You say you'll do whatever you want them to, just tell them a story they wanna hear. It's what I've been doin' since I got here."

"You don't say?" I say, plastering an enormous fake grin on my face. "Hadn't picked up on that."

"Just do it," Carol scowls, staring Rick down.

"Why?" Michonne demands.

"Because these people are children and children like stories," Carol points out.

"What happens after all the nice words and they still try to kick him out?" Abraham questions.

"We fight," I say simply. "Like we always have."

"They're guarding the armory now," Glenn says.

"We still have knives," Carol counters. "That's all we'll need against them."

Yeah, knives and her stolen gun and the other two guns meant for me and Daryl still stashed away in her closet.

"Christ," I mutter, rubbing my temples. "It's gonna be a slaughter."

"Well, tonight at the meeting, if it looks like it's goin' bad, I whistle," Rick plans aloud, eyeing Michonne. "Carol grabs Deanna, I take Spencer, you grab Reg. Adie, Glenn, and Abraham cover us, watch the crowd."

"We can  _ talk _ to them," Michonne snaps.

"Yeah, we will," Rick assures her. "If we can't get through, we take the three of 'em and say we'll slit their throats."

"You mean like what happened to you all at Terminus?" I question pointedly.

"No, we just  _ tell _ 'em," Rick insists, eyes wide. "They give us the armory and it's over."

"Did you want this?" Glenn demands.

"No," Rick says firmly. "I hit my limit. I, I… I screwed up. And here we are. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm just gonna sleep some more."

He rolls over, elbowing me off the side of his mattress. We leave him to it. Head off in our separate directions to prepare for the inevitable battle.

*Daryl's POV*

"Somebody came through here a while ago," I inform Aaron, eyeing the flattened grass and a single boot print in the mud.

We've been wandering the woods for two days. I was hoping we'd've found somebody by now. It's almost starting to feel like a waste of time, but it's still better than being caged in with the Stepfords. I think. I don't know, I didn't expect to be missing my people this much. Missing Adie.

"If we see them, we hang back," Aaron instructs. "Set up the mic, watch and listen."

"For how long?"

"Until we know," he says simply. "We have to know."

"You've sent people away?" I question, carefully stepping over a trickle of water that ain't big enough to be called a creek but ain't small enough to be a puddle, neither.

"Yeah."

"What happened?"

"It was early on," he murmurs, guilt crossing his features. "It was three people. Two men and a woman. Davidson was their leader. Smart as hell, strong. I thought they'd work out. They didn't. I brought them in and I had to see them out. So me, Aiden, and Nicholas, we uh, drove them out. Far. Gave them a day's worth of food and water and left them."

"They just went?"

"We had their guns."

Oh.

"We had all the guns," he mutters darkly. "I can't make that kind of mistake again."

"Shh," I raise my hand, nodding at a man across the way.

He ain't seen us. He's alone. We ain't able to get a good look at his face, he's wearing a red poncho and the hood casts all but his mouth in shadow. We let him gain a bit more distance before pulling out the mic and following him. How the tables have turned. I'd been fucking pissed when we found out Aaron was following us. But he's right. We gotta know.

The mic ain't much use. He's alone and he apparently ain't the type to talk to himself. Still, Aaron keeps his headset on, listening intently to a whole lotta nothin'. He's lumbering his way through a large field and we're tailing him, hidden in the trees adjacent to the clearing, when he stops abruptly, crouching down and pulling a plant from the ground.

"What's he doing?" Aaron murmurs, staring in confusion as the man crushes the plant in his hands and rubs his palms over his face.

"Wild leeks," I explain, squinting through the binoculars. "Sumbitch knows about how to keep mosquitoes off of 'im."

Aaron blinks like I just said the dumbest shit he's ever heard, then turns his gaze back to the man.

"Come on," I grunt, the two of us continuing to stalk our potential recruit, because what better way to make new friends?

*Adrienne's POV*

"Come on."

I glance up at Carol from my perch on the gray wicker chair I've come to think of as mine.

"Where are we goin'?" I question, eyeing the casserole dish in her hands suspiciously.

"To visit Pete," she beams, waving at a group of whispering neighbors passing us by.

"No," I cross my arms, well aware that it makes me look like a petulant child but not really in the mood to give a shit.

"Yes," she growls, the edge in her voice a sharp contradiction the grin plastered on her lips. "I'm going, whether you come back me up or not."

She whirls on her heel and I only half consider staying right where I am before leaping from the chair and following her down the street.

"What's your plan?" I question, seething. "You gonna feed 'im into submission?"

"Smile, you're on candid camera," she orders breezily, eyeing Tobin and a couple other men I don't know or care to. "Keepin' up appearances, remember?"

"Did you poison the casserole?" I ask hopefully through gritted teeth, offering Tobin a grin.

"No." 

"Then why are we-"

"Shut up."

I follow her up the steps of the house Pete had been placed in after last night. He's the last person I want to see. Honestly, I'm just as likely to kill him as Rick is. I've tried to avoid him since he stitched up the cut above my eye the night Noah died. _ A shame, _ he'd said,  _ something like this happening to such a pretty face. _

Carol knocks politely on the door, waiting a few moments before knocking again, louder and more insistent than before. Still, he doesn't show. I curl my hand into a fist and pound on the door, Carol glaring when I continue to beat on it after the three or four knocks that could still be considered polite. My fist hits the door no less than nine times before it finally swings open, revealing Pete in all his miserable glory. The second the door is cracked, Carol and I shove our way inside, not giving him a chance to shut us out.

"What the hell are you doing?" He demands, angry eyes flickering between my face and Carol's.

I regard him cooly, leaning nonchalantly against the door. Rick really did a number on him, and I can't honestly say it doesn't make my heart swell with just a tiny bit of vindictive satisfaction.

"You need to check on Tara," Carol announces. "You treated her, you're a surgeon. You need to do that."

"Get out," Pete snarls.

Carol's not phased in the slightest, reaching into her cardigan and producing a serrated kitchen knife she'd hidden beneath the wool.

"I could kill you right now," she says matter of factly.

Pete scoffs. I wish I'd brought popcorn. God, I miss popcorn. With the movie theater butter…

"I  _ could, _ " she says, bringing the point of her blade to rest just inches from Pete's throat. "I will. And then…" she brings the knife closer, pressing the tip ever so softly against the underside of his chin. "Who would believe I did it because I didn't like you?"

He inhales sharply, backing up against the stair rail, and it's all I can do not to cheer. Ed Peletier himself would crumble before the woman in front of me now.

"No one," Carol continues sweetly, almost sing-song in tone. "They'd believe you tried to hurt me. Definitely believe that. I brought a witness."

"It would certainly be a shame if anything were to happen to such a pretty face," I simper.

She removes the blade with one quick motion, and Pete flinches, almost as though he's unsure whether or not she'd actually cut him. Hell, for a moment, I'm not sure she didn't.

"Come at me," she challenges, Pete not moving a muscle. "No? Yeah?"

She lets him sweat for a moment and I think a part of her is enjoying this, too. That part of her that used to pray for Ed's death and jump at his shadow.

"No," she says sweetly. "The way this has played out, you have a chance. You're here. Your wife's there. You're a small, weak nothing. And with the world how it is, you're even  _ weaker. _ Play your cards right, maybe you don't have to die."

She thrusts the casserole dish into his chest, his fingers reflexively curling around it, and stows her knife.

"And I want my dish back  _ clean _ when you're done," she snaps.

She and I scurry out the door, leaving Pete behind to contemplate his future. We're about halfway home when I burst into a fit of giggles, staring at Carol delightedly.

"What?" She demands, a genuine grin spreading across her lips.

"Nothin'," I sigh happily. "You're just… you're a  _ badass. _ "

Her grin spreads so wide, it almost splits her face.

*Daryl's POV*

We'd been tracking the man in the poncho just fine, watching, listening. Until we lost him. We've searched everywhere, trying to pick up his trail.

"We checked the forest, we checked the roads," Aaron says, eyeing the warehouse we'd just come across. "We can't find him. Sometimes they slip away, it happens. But… you don't come across something like this every day."

The  _ 'this' _ he's referring to is a few semi trailers at the loading dock outside the warehouse. They could be full of food, just one of 'em could contain enough to feed everyone in Alexandria for two, maybe three months. They could just as easily be empty, though.

DEL ARNO FOODS

CANNED

FRUITS & VEGETABLES

_ "How the harvest gets home." _

I snort at the banner. Ain't very imaginative. This place is still gonna be here on our way home. I ain't sure I'm ready to let poncho guy go yet.

"We do this now… means we're givin' up," I announce.

"Home is 50 miles back," he counters. "It's time to go. You saw it last night, there's bad people out here."

"That's why we oughta keep lookin' for the good ones," I point out.

"We need more people, and we'll find 'em," he assures me. "But when we do, we'll need to feed 'em."

"All right," I concede, knowing he ain't entirely wrong.

The lot's full of walkers, pinned in by a chain link gate. I tap my knife against it, the sound of metal on metal drawing 'em near enough for us to take 'em out through the fence. Once they're all down, we open the gate and head across the lot to the loading dock.

"Woah," Aaron freezes, eyeing the licence plate on one of the semis. "Wasn't sure I'd ever see one of these."

I scoff. Alaska. Ain't like it matters much given the fact he'd lost the plates he'd collected already, but whatever makes the man happy, I guess. Merle used to say ain't nothin' in Alaska but snow and Eskimos. I still wanted to see it. I read some book in middle school about Kodiak bears and always thought they sounded badass. I wonder idly if there are enough walkers in Alaska to take out a bear that can reach nearly 1500 pounds.

"Hey, listen," Aaron says, unscrewing the plate. "I don't like giving up either, but the guy is in a red poncho. You can see him from a mile away. We've gone a lotta miles here. No sign of him. But… if we come away with a trailer full of cans, I'd say that's a good trip."

"Here we go," I say, flipping the latch on the trailer door.

We discover too late someone's rigged this shit so as soon as one latch is moved there's no stopping that door from lifting the other two. Walkers shamble from the trailers, flooding the parking lot, all of 'em marked with that damn  _ 'W' _ on their foreheads. We fight our way through them, taking shelter inside an abandoned car in the parking lot. There are dozens of 'em, all converging upon the car. In a stroke of ridiculously bad fucking luck, the steering wheel in this thing is gone. Even if I could hot wire it, it ain't going nowhere. I don't see a way outta this.

"Glass'll hold for a while, right?" Aaron questions hopefully.

"Maybe," I grunt breathlessly. "Maybe we can make it so they can't see us. In a couple hours, somethin'll come by, they'll follow it out. There's gotta be somethin' in here we can use to block the view. We can cut up these seats."

I lean back, intent on tearing the upholstery from the backseat, but pause when Aaron plucks a crumpled up piece of paper from beneath his seat.

TRAP

BAD PEOPLE 

COMING

DON'T STAY

It starts out written in pen, but looks like the pen ran out of ink before the writer was finished. The last warning is written in blood. Jesus, we gotta get the hell outta here. But watching the walkers writhe against the glass, a throng so thick I can't see the world beyond the clawing corpses, the irony of our situation becomes so fucking comical I can't help but laugh. As I collapse back into the driver's seat, something flutters out of my vest. Adie's picture, the one where she's flipping the bird. Shit. If we make it outta here, I gotta find a safer place to keep this.

"What?" Aaron asks, eyeing me confusedly.

"I came out here to… to not feel all closed up back there," I explain. "Even now, this still feels more like me… than back in them houses with a… a pretty girl on my arm," I wave her picture, then tuck it back into my vest. "That's pretty messed up, huh?"

I'm still closed up. Just closed up in a box that feels a little more suitable than them fancy houses.

"You were trying," he points out.

"I had to," I shrug.

"No, you didn't," he counters. "Listen, I saw you with your group out there on the road. Then you went off on your own by the barn… "

He trails off and I know what he ain't saying. What he'd seen. He watched me hold a lit cigarette to my skin and cry. And it ain't like me, but it don't bother me he was there. That he saw that. Merle would have a fucking stroke, me being friends with a gay guy. There's something I like about that. Something so damn satisfying in this small rebellion.

"Storm hit and you led your people to safety," he continues. "That was it. I knew I had to bring you people back. You were right. We shoulda kept looking for the guy in the poncho. I shouldn't've given up. You didn't."

Really? I wasn't doin' nothin' special. Nothin' Rick wouldn't've done.  _ You're just as good as them, _ Carol told me once.  _ Every bit. _ I didn't believe it. Not then. I ain't sure I believe it now, but I ain't gonna give up. Not yet. I pull out a cigarette and light up. If I'm goin' out, might as well get one last smoke in.

"I'll go," I volunteer. "I'll lead 'em out, you can make a break for the fence."

"No, no, no," Aaron argues. "This was my fault."

"It wasn't a question," I tell him firmly. "And this ain't your decision. Ain't nobody's fault. Jus' lemme finish my smoke first."

"No," he shakes his head. "You don't draw them away.  _ We _ fight.  _ We _ go for the fence. We do it together. All right? Whether we make it or not, we do it together. We have to."

"All right," I agree after a moment, nodding my assent. "You ready?"

"Yeah," he confirms, the two of us pulling out our blades.

"We'll go on three," I instruct. "One, two-"

I don't get to three. A man armed with a stick has managed to reach us through the crowd of the undead. A fucking  _ stick. _ Reminds me of Adie throwing herself off that goddamn train car back at Terminus with her tiny, wooden shiv. She'd be impressed. This guy's stick is a proper staff, at least. I ain't gonna complain, he's making it work. The three of us manage to fight our way out of the lot and pull the gate closed, all of us left in one piece. Well, three pieces.

"That was…" Aaron starts, awestruck and preparing to fawn over Stick Man. "Oh… thank you. Uh, I'm Aaron, this is Daryl."

"Morgan," the man says, eyeing us warily.

"Why?" I question, wondering why the hell he'd risk what he just did for people he don't even know.

"Why?" Morgan repeats. "Because all life is precious, Daryl."

"Whoever set that trap, they're coming," Aaron warns. "But um, I have good news. We do. Uh, we have a community not too far from here. Walls, electricity, it's safe. Uh, if you'd like to come join us-"

"I thank you," Morgan interrupts. "But I'm on my way somewhere. Fact is, I'm lost, so… if you could tell me where we are."

He produces a map from his pocket and I take it, unfolding the tattered piece of paper. No fucking way.

SORRY, I WAS AN ASSHOLE.

COME TO WASHINGTON.

THE NEW WORLD'S GONNA

NEED  RICK GRIMES.

I'll be damned.


	63. I'll Show You How

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains smut and holy shit this is terrifying to put out there, how do you all do it? Thanks for reading!

**Chapter 63**

*Adrienne's POV*

"Hey."

Rick glances at me over his shoulder, then pats the bed beside him.

"Hey," he echoes as I sink down onto the mattress. "Thank you."

"For what?" I raise my eyebrows quizzically.

"Patchin' me up."

"Oh," I murmur. "It's nothin'."

We sit in silence for a few moments, each lost in our own thoughts. It's almost time for the meeting. Maggie's been talking to people all day, trying to put in a good word for him. She says Reg is on our side, but Deanna… she's not. And her word counts the most. We're in an extremely precarious situation here. If Deanna exiles Rick, we have two choices. Walk away from a life here… or we fight. And if we fight, there will be blood. People  _ will _ die. Innocent people, for the most part. Stupid and naive, some of 'em, but innocent. I don't know if we can come back from that. Then again, I don't think I ever came back from the prison. From the Governor.

"Rick," Michonne sighs, leaning against the door frame. "You ready?"

Rick and I exchange a glance, his eyes questioning. I know what he's asking. We left Michonne in the dark. Hell, we left them all in the dark. He wants to tell her the truth. I nod.

"Carol," he starts, sighing heavily as Michonne steps into the room. "Carol, Daryl, Adie... and me. We worked it out together. Carol took four guns from the armory. I still have one, she still has the others."

"Adie?" Michonne questions softly, eyeing me.

"No," I shake my head. "I was never armed."

"We lied to you because I wasn't sure how you'd take it," Rick admits, offering his gun. "What you'd do."

Michonne sighs, tossing her police jacket onto the bed.

"You think I'd try to stop you?" She asks, ignoring the gun in Rick's outstretched palm.

"Well, you did hit me over the head," he points out.

"That was for  _ you, _ " she tells him. "Not them."

The way they're looking at each other now… I get the sudden sense I'm intruding.

"I'll be downstairs," I announce, clapping Rick on the shoulder.

I perch myself cross-legged on the kitchen counter, devouring an apple in a decidedly unladylike fashion. Rick's little…  _ thing _ for Jessie, it's moronic. Michonne's right in front of him and I'm not sure he sees it yet. Hell, maybe she doesn't, either. They're good for each other, though. She keeps him level and he... he gave her a reason to keep fighting. Brought her in, made her part of our family.

"Let's go," she commands, stomping down the stairs.

"Rick?" I question, sliding off the counter and falling into step with her.

"He needs a minute," she tells me. "He'll be ready when he's ready."

Fair enough.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," I murmur, gazing into the last rays of the setting sun as the two of us make our way to Deanna's backyard. "I know how much you wanted this to work, and it's not that I don't trust you. I do. It's just… after bein' out there, after everything... I couldn't trust this place."

"I know," she sighs. "I'm not angry. I'm not. I was. But… I'm with you, and I'm with Rick. No matter what happens tonight."

I nod. I know she is. I trust her. And this place might be okay. We just have to cull the herd a little. Pete has to go. Nicholas has to go. They're dangerous, and the only way to make sure they're not a threat to us, to this place… we're gonna have to kill them. But maybe not tonight.

"This place could work," I blurt. "I know that now. But it can only work if they're willin' to change."

"I know."

Once we reach the Monroe's, Michonne moves to stand up front with Deanna and Reg and I take my place in the back corner beside Abe and we wait.

Night falls as people filter in. It's well past time for the meeting. Most everyone's here, gathered on folding chairs around the fire, two very notable exceptions being Glenn Rhee and Rick Grimes. God damn it. You can't be late to your own damn trial. Where the fuck are they? Nicholas is missing too, and I have a bad feeling in my gut about that. Pete and Gabriel aren't here, either. That's probably a good thing, though.

"We're going to start," Deanna announces impatiently.

"Can we wait?" Maggie asks. "There's still people comin'. Glenn, Rick."

"Please, ma'am," I add, Deanna's sharp eyes flicking to mine. "They'll be here."

"We're going to start," she repeats defiantly. "It's already dark. We're going to talk about what happened. Not the fight. Not what precipitated it. We're dealing with that. We're going to talk about one of our constables. Rick Grimes. We're going to talk about how he had a pistol he stole from the armory, about how he pointed it at people, and we're going to talk about what he said. I was hoping he'd be here."

"He will be," I interrupt, harsher than intended. "He will be, ma'am."

"I'm sure he'll be here," Carol remarks, smiling placidly. I want to hit her. "And I'm sure we can work this all out."

Deanna lays out the issues, then opens the floor for discussion. To her credit, she sticks to the facts. She's a grieving mother. I have to remind myself of that. She just lost her son, she's looking for someone to blame. But this isn't right. This isn't gonna bring him back.

"And after being out there, and then not being how you were out there…" Michonne is saying. "It can drive you crazy. Rick just wants his family to live. He wants all of you to live. Who he is… is who you're gonna be. If you're lucky."

"Rick Grimes saved my life over and over," Carol begins. "There's  _ terrifying _ people out there. And he  _ rescued _ me from them. People like me, people like, like us need people like him. I know what happened last night was scary. And I'm sure he's sorry for that. But maybe we should listen to what he was saying."

She finishes, beaming around at the Alexandrians. Now it's my turn.

"Rick... has gone to extraordinary lengths to keep us all safe," I start, tearing up instantly and hating it. "When I met him, he was just a stranger. Now he's... he's my brother. My best friend. None of you know what it's like out there. You can't know, not until you  _ are _ out there, until you've been somewhere without walls to protect you. All he's tryin' to do is make sure you never have to know. He once swore an oath to protect and serve, and he held onto that when the world went to  _ shit. _ And you're lucky he did, that he's here, because one day that wall's gonna give. One day, the bad people out there are gonna get in here and they're gonna try and take everything you have, but... but if you let 'im, Rick will be here when it happens, fightin' for you.  _ That's _ who he is."

"Simply put…" Abraham starts, taking the floor. "There is a vast ocean of shit that you people don't know shit about. Rick knows every fine grain of said shit… and then some."

"My father respected Rick Grimes," Maggie announces, rising as Abraham finishes. "Rick is a father, too. He's a man with a good heart who feels the things he does, the things he has to do. And all of us who were together before this place, no matter when we found each other, we're family now. Rick started that. And you won't stop it. You can't. And you don't  _ want _ to. This community, you people… that family… you wanna be a part of it, too."

"Before we hear from anyone else, I uh… I would like to share something in the spirit of transparency," Deanna says softly. "Father Gabriel came to see me the day before yesterday… and he said our new arrivals can't be trusted. That they were dangerous, that they would put themselves before this community. And not one day later, Rick seemed to demonstrate all the things Father Gabriel said."

"Father Gabriel's an asshole," I blurt, a few surprised giggles rippling through the group. "You know where he was when we found him? Stuck on top of some godforsaken rock in the woods, knee deep in walkers, screamin' for help. We helped him,  _ Rick _ helped him. If you wanna know if you can trust Father Gabriel, ask him what happened to his  _ flock. _ Later, of course, as, and I can't help but notice, ma'am, he's also  _ not here. _ "

"I had hoped Father Gabriel would be here tonight," Deanna murmurs, unfazed.

"I don't see him here, Deanna," Jessie pipes up. "So you're just saying what someone said. Did you tape him?"

"He's not here," Maggie says flatly.

"Neither is Rick," Deanna counters.

"Excuse me," Maggie says, fleeing the meeting.

"I just wanted to keep my family safe," Tobin says, standing. "You know? And I don't even know what that means anymore, but if it means that we've gotta get rid of-"

He trails off as Rick finally makes an appearance, covered in blood, a body draped over his shoulders. I take in the tattered clothes. A walker. I exchange a relieved glance with Abraham. We're okay. Rick moves to the center of the group, flinging the walker to the ground with a heavy thump.

"There wasn't a guard on the gate," he huffs, breathing heavily. "It was open."

"I asked Gabriel to close it," Spencer tells his mom.

"I  _ told  _ y'all he's an asshole," I mutter.

"Go!" Deanna barks, and Spencer scurries off to man the gate.

"I didn't bring it in," Rick announces. "It got inside on its own. They always will. The dead  _ and _ the living, because  _ we're _ in here. And the ones out there… they'll  _ hunt _ us. They'll find us. They'll try to use us. Try to kill us. But we'll kill them. We'll survive. I'll show you how. You know, I was thinkin'... I was thinkin' how many of you do I have to kill to save your lives? But I'm not gonna do that.  _ You're _ gonna change. I'm not sorry for what I said last night. I'm sorry for not sayin' it  _ sooner. _ You're not ready, but you have to be. Right now, you  _ have _ to be. Luck runs out."

"You're not one of us!" Pete snarls, limping into the meeting with Michonne's katana in his hand. "You're not one of us!"

"Pete, you don't want to do this!" Reg shouts, scrambling over to subdue the man.

"Get the hell away from me, Reg," Pete hisses, brandishing the katana.

"Pete, just stop, okay, stop," Reg insists, trying to stop him.

"Get away!" Pete roars.

Then Reg goes down. The blade has sliced through his jugular. Abe and I are on the move immediately. He takes Pete down and I kick the stolen weapon away, dropping to my knees beside Deanna and Reg. My hands flutter uselessly to his neck, checking the wound. It's too deep, he's bleeding out. Deanna's wailing, her cries mixing with the terrible gurgling emanating from Reg's throat as he tries to breathe. But it's too late. He's gone in under a minute. I look down at the blood on my hands, on my shirt… it always comes down to this, doesn't it? Blood and death, no matter where we go… we can't escape it. I get to my feet, giving Deanna her space. There's nothing I can do.

"This is him!" Pete shrieks.

"Shut up!" Abe orders, his knee digging into the small of Pete's back.

"Rick…" Deanna's anguished voice chokes out as Pete continues to howl accusations. "Do it."

Rick fires. More blood. More death.

"Rick?" A voice I don't know questions, and I whirl around.

Aaron and Daryl are back, accompanied by the horrified man who spoke, all staring at the scene before them. Despite the grim circumstances, I'm selfishly flooded with relief when I see Daryl. He's alive.

*Daryl's POV*

"What the hell happened?" I murmur to Adrienne as we follow Rick back to his house. "You hurt?"

"It's not my blood," she assures me. "I'm okay."

"You got stitches."

"Oh," she sighs, reaching up to touch the cut above her eyebrow like she'd forgotten all about it. "Yeah, that happened on the run."

She explains to me all the shit that went down while I was gone. Rick and Pete beat the shit out of each other 'cause Rick's got a thing for Pete's wife, who Pete was hitting anyway. Rick lost his shit and pulled a gun on all of 'em, and Deanna called that meeting to determine whether Rick would be allowed to stay. Pete crashed the meeting, killed Reg and would have killed Rick if he hadn't killed Pete first. Tara's unconscious at the infirmary 'cause while they were out on their run, Aiden shot at a military walker and blew up a fucking grenade. He didn't make it.

Neither did Noah.

When we get to Rick's place, Adrienne immediately heads for the shower. I take a seat at the kitchen island with Morgan, wolfing down leftover casserole while he explains to Rick how he came across me and Aaron. That's he's been looking for him.

"You were right," he says, eyes on Rick. "Wasn't over."

Adrienne enters the kitchen before Rick can say anything, eyes red-rimmed and teary, but otherwise no worse for wear. She's changed clothes, her damp curls hanging loosely around her face, and I'm glad no one's talking anymore 'cause I'm gone, lost in her, trying to remember how to breathe.

"We should talk more tomorrow," Rick says quietly. "Listen… I don't take chances anymore."

"And you shouldn't," Morgan nods, curious gaze on Adie as she approaches Rick.

"There's a towel and clothes on the counter," she announces, jerking her head in the direction she'd just come from.

"I'm good," Rick says, waving her off.

"You look like shit," she scoffs. "Get your ass in that shower and at least rinse off the blood."

They lock eyes, each defiantly attempting to stare the other into submission. It's unclear who's winning, but I can tell they're having one of them silent arguments. Adie arches an eyebrow and Rick lets out a defeated sigh, stomping upstairs without another word. Less than a minute later we hear the shower turn on and Adrienne smirks triumphantly before turning her attention to Morgan.

"There's a bedroom down the hall upstairs, third door on the left," she tells him. "You can sleep there tonight, and feel free to take what you need from the closet. You look like you've been out there a while. Bathroom's the first door on the left if you're wantin' a shower, Rick won't be long. Towels are in the cupboard across the hall."

"Thank you," he says gratefully, holding his hand out. "Morgan Jones."

"Adrienne Blake," she shakes his hand, smiling warmly.

"You been with Rick long?"

"Since Atlanta," she nods. "Met him a couple days after you saved him."

"I didn't save him."

"Yeah, you did. Let me know if you need anything."

Morgan nods and Adie turns to me now. I've finished eating and she takes my bowl and spoon, washing them and placing them on the rack to dry.

"I'm gon' go out for a smoke," I announce, Adie on my heels.

We head out the door and I perch myself on the railing, pulling out a cigarette and lighting up while Adie slumps down in her chair. She looks exhausted, brushing her fingers through her hair, attempting to tame it in vain.

"You all right?" I question.

"Reg was… Reg was a good guy," she sighs heavily. "Didn't deserve to go out like that."

I nod, squinting into the street as I take another drag.

"Are you?" She asks, eyeing me.

"Yeah," I grunt.

But she knows I got shit on my mind and just stays quiet until I tell her about the man with the red poncho. The trap we'd been led into, Morgan saving our asses, the map… I tell her about all them marked walkers, the mutilated woman in the woods. And she listens intently, just letting me talk like she always does.

*Adrienne's POV*

"You gonna keep going out?" I question, hoping like hell he's gonna say no.

"Gotta," he says quietly. "We need more people."

"And I need you safe."

I know I'm being selfish, I know that. But I can't lose him. I can't. He climbs down from the railing, crossing to where I'm seated in the chair, taking my hands in his and pulling me to my feet. Before I can process what's happening, his lips are on mine. There's absolutely no hesitation this time, no second guessing or self doubt. The kiss is urgent, hungry.

*Daryl's POV*

"And I need you safe," she says softly, her eyes meeting mine.

I don't know what comes over me, but I gotta touch her. She needs me. Wants me safe, cares more about me than I ever thought anyone would, anyone  _ could. _ I pull her to her feet, pressing my lips to hers before I can talk myself out of it. I ain't worried this time. I'm here. And it's  _ her. _ I don't have to be afraid. There's an urgency in this kiss, a hunger I ain't never felt this strong before, and it's so fucking dramatic, but it feels like I'm fucking starving. I place my hands over her hips and pull her closer, trying like hell to ignore the voice in my head telling me not to be so damn greedy.

Her mouth is moving against mine, but it ain't enough. I brush the tip of my tongue across her lips, and when she parts them, I slip my tongue inside her mouth, worried for a minute my teeth are gonna smack into hers and this will be over 'cause I don't know how to fucking  _ move _ around her but they don't and it ain't over. She weaves her fingers through my hair, pressing her body against mine. I break the kiss, kissing my way down her neck. She whimpers softly, and I freeze, sure I've done something wrong.

My eyes snap to hers, terrified.

"Don't stop," she murmurs softly. "It's okay."

Swallowing my fear, I move my mouth back to her neck, kissing her skin softly, testing. She arches against me, her breath coming in heavy pants, and I think maybe, even though I've gotta be the most inept motherfucker to ever stumble my way into this situation,  _ maybe _ I'm doing something right. I kiss her neck again, this time grazing her skin with my teeth. She inhales sharply, a low moan escaping her mouth, and that sound… I wanna hear that again, over and over forever.

Then she hooks her fingers through my belt loops, grinning up at me and walking backward, pulling me with her until her back is against the house.

*Adrienne's POV*

I can feel him hardening against me, straining in his pants, pushing against my stomach. He set the pace this time and I think he's ready. God knows I am. I reach up and cup his face with my hands, kissing him softly. He hardens further, his breath catching in his throat.

"This okay?" I breathe, slowly moving my hand down towards the bulge in his pants.

He bites his lip, then nods once. I palm him over his jeans, his cock jumping at my touch. We're on the far side of the porch and it's dark. We're relatively secluded, but still... Christ, what I wouldn't give for some fucking privacy just this one time. I am  _ not _ a front porch fuck. There's gotta be-

Oh.

"Come on," I murmur.

I take his hand and we quietly sneak our way back into the house. I lead him to a small study off the kitchen, pulling the door closed behind us and locking it before I turn to face him. He's chewing his lip and looks so nervous he could crawl out of his skin.

"Daryl," I murmur, crossing towards him and taking his hand, attempting to get him to stop avoiding my eyes. "Do you want to do this? You don't have to if you're not ready. It's okay. I promise."

He meets my gaze, the uncertainty in his eyes fading away almost instantly. I kiss him, soft and sweet. Slow. We have time. I break the kiss, taking a step back from him and pulling my shirt off. He's watching, I can see his breath hitching in his chest, and I almost laugh. He doesn't even blink when it comes to walkers or hurricanes or men with guns, but  _ I _ make him nervous?  _ Me? _ Swallowing my own nerves, I unhook my bra, letting the straps slide down my arms before it hits the floor.

His eyes widen and I move closer to him, glancing down shyly. He lifts my chin with his thumb, staring into my eyes. He's looking at me like I'm the most beautiful creature he's ever laid eyes on, and there's wanting in his eyes. I've seen that look before, the desire, but with him there's something else, something that makes me feel like maybe I'm worth a damn, like he thinks I'm something special and oh, my god, I've  _ never _ seen that before. This means something.

He takes his crossbow off his back, laying it on the floor while I kick my boots off, damn near losing my balance and toppling over like an idiot in my haste. Then I strip my pants off and kick them aside, too, down to just my underwear. He crosses towards me, running his warm, calloused hands down my body, and when I look up, expecting to see his eyes roaming my exposed skin, I'm surprised to see him looking at my face. I tug his vest from his shoulders, then help him pull his shirt over his head, revealing his scars.

He looks down, ashamed. I press my lips to one of the angry, raised lines on his chest, gingerly running my fingertips down his back. He raises his eyes to mine, searching for any sign of disgust or fear. He has tears in his eyes, and I hate that he's so afraid. I bring his lips to mine, kissing him softly.

He kicks his boots off, sending them skittering across the room to join my discarded clothing, and I help him remove his pants and he springs free, and never in a million years did I think I'd describe anyone's dick as something beautiful, but he's perfect. I trail a fingertip along his length and he lets out a whimper, his hips bucking involuntarily. I slip my underwear off while he shoves a stack of books and a reading lamp to the edge of the desk, trying to be careful and not break anything, but sometimes good intentions aren't enough.

"Shit," he mutters, glaring at the shattered glass and crooked lampshade on the floor between the desk and bookshelf.

"It was an ugly lamp, anyway," I chuckle. "No one'll miss it."

I climb up and seat myself on the edge of the desk, and he's frozen again.

"It's okay, Daryl," I breathe, pulling him closer and parting my legs.

He steps between my legs, and I reach down to line him up with my slick entrance. He shivers at the contact, screwing his eyes shut.

"Hey," I whisper, and his eyes snap to mine. "It's not too late."

He barks out a laugh that sounds slightly hysterical, raking a hand through his hair.

"Don't laugh," I grin, giggling despite myself. "I'm serious. We can-"

"I wanna," he blurts, seemingly startled at having said it out loud.

"Then look at me."

That's apparently the final push he needs, and I grip the sides of the desk as he slowly sinks into me, a breathy little moan escaping his lips. He's still for a moment, his eyes boring into mine while he gets used to the feeling of being inside me. Then, instinctively, he begins to move, slowly at first. It's the most agonizingly exquisite torture and some little psychotic part of me is convinced he's actually trying to kill me, which is ridiculous, but holy shit, I need him to move.

"Daryl…"

Then he's gripping my thighs and spreading them wider as he drives into me, watching in rapt wonder, lips parted, eyes lust blown, while he disappears inside me over and over again. Curiously, he moves one of his hands to my lower belly, grunting when he feels himself moving beneath my skin. I reach down, taking his hand and guiding it to my clit. His eyes widen as a sharp, almost feral moan tears itself from my throat.

He thumbs my clit, slowing his rhythm as he watches me react to his touch. The look in his eyes… that look drives me crazy. It's like he's studying, memorizing me. He rubs slow circles around the bundle of nerves and I cry out, turning my face to the side, lifting my hand to my mouth and biting down to muffle myself before we alert the whole goddamn house to what we're doing. He's not having that, though, taking both my hands in one of his and pinning them above my head while he continues to work my clit.

"Daryl!" I rasp, gripping his hips between my thighs while I arch and grind up into him. "They're gonna… they're… oh my god, they're gonna hear us."

"Don't care," he growls, picking up the pace.

I feel a knot tightening in my stomach, like all the tension in my body is suddenly right behind my belly button. He's hitting parts of me I didn't know were there or forgot or maybe just didn't  _ care _ about until this exact moment and how the fuck does he know they're there?

"Oh, fuck!" I cry. "Fuck yes, Daryl, right there. Just like that… oh, my god… I'm gonna..."

I unravel beneath him, coming completely undone, his name falling from my lips like I've forgotten every other word I've ever known, and I'm sure I must sound a little unhinged but I just don't care 'cause I'm almost convinced I'm dreaming 'cause this feels too good to be real.

"Adrienne…" he rasps.

His thrusts become sloppy and desperate as he explodes inside me, my name on his lips before he gives up, muttering profane nonsense until he collapses on top of me, the two of us panting, absolutely spent.

"I'm sorry," he breathes against my neck, something a little like fear and a little like guilt staining his voice. "I'm sorry."

"Shh," I murmur. "It's okay. I'm not."

He looks at me, tears glistening in his eyes, and I can't take it. He didn't take anything I didn't want to give. I wish I could make him believe it. I press my lips to his, holding him tight against me.

"I love you," I whisper into his mouth.

He lets out a strangled little sob, burying his face in my neck.

"I love you and I'm not sorry," I promise.

He's gonna believe it one day. I'm gonna make sure.

-

"Well," Abraham chuckles. "It is about goddamn time."

"What?" I mutter, burrowing my head into Daryl's neck. "What happened?"

After last night, we'd crept into the living room, ended up falling asleep tangled up in each other on the sofa. I'm fucking euphoric and I'll be damned if anyone's gonna ruin it.

"A little batter dippin' the corndog, if I had to guess. Unstick yourselves, Adie, Carol needs you."

My eyes fly open, face flushing hot as I sit up. Abraham's already out the door, mission evidently accomplished. Daryl's ears are turning an alarming shade of scarlet, but he's not running. His eyes meet mine and I chuckle at our mutual embarrassment.

"Batter dippin' the corndog?" I question, bemused.

"Gross sumbitch," Daryl grunts, glaring at the door.

"Guess I'm gonna go see what Carol needs," I groan, stretching and popping my shoulders, reveling in the warm, pleasant ache radiating through my body. "You wanna come with?"

"Nah, I gotta work on the bike," he tells me, getting to his feet.

"Test run didn't go so hot?" I question, also rising.

"Jus' need to tighten it up," he mutters.

"I'll see you later," I tell him, giving him a peck on the cheek.

To my delight, he stops me before I can leave to press his lips to mine. I'd been so afraid after… well, he'd look at me differently or maybe not look at me at all. But the look in his eyes when he breaks the kiss is so tender I want to cry. This is what it's  _ supposed _ to feel like. I beam up at him and bring my lips to his one more time before heading next door. The world around me might be an apocalyptic cluster fuck, but for the first time in my life I feel utterly and completely whole.

*Daryl's POV*

Before I make it out the door, Rick stops me for a quick conversation. Apparently Deanna's wanting to keep an eye on Morgan, move him to a makeshift prison cell in one one of the brownstones until she decides  _ 'what to do with him'. _ Doesn't want him staying with Rick. I ain't too sure how Morgan's gonna take that, but I guess we'll see. I've been working on the bike less than 15 minutes when Rick comes stomping towards me.

"So, is he okay with it?" I question.

"It was pretty much his idea," Rick scoffs. "He gets it."

"It's got a bed 'n a bath, but… it's still a cage, you know?" I glance up at him.

"No, he gets it," he assures me. "He told me what happened out there with the trucks."

"He tell you about those guys he met?" I ask, getting to my feet. "The  _ 'W's? _ "

Before Morgan happened upon me and Aaron stuck in that car, he took down two guys with  _ 'W'  _ carved on their foreheads. They said some crazy shit about wolves and natives and wanting to take all Morgan's shit, turn him into a walker. They got some kinda gang or cult or some shit. He left 'em unconscious in a car. All life is precious. Whatever.

"Like that walker we saw, yeah," he nods. "We need more watch points. And I'm gonna tell Deanna we don't need to go lookin' for people anymore."

I consider his words. I think we need people now more than ever, but I ain't about to argue with him. So I just nod, chewing my thumb and keeping my opinion to myself.

"You feel different about it?"

Fuck it.

"Yeah," I nod, looking at him. "I do." 

"Well, people out there… they gotta take care of themselves, just like us," he argues, then changes the subject. "I'm gonna get him out. Shouldn't leave him in there any longer than we have to."

Yeah. Ain't like he's got anywhere else to be. Rick leaves with Morgan to dispose of Pete's body, and I spend the next few hours working on the bike. Even if we ain't gonna go look for more people, this thing is still useful. Been thinking about asking if Adie wants to go out on a run, just me and her. Glenn's in charge of all that, but I think he'd be okay with it.

That idea's shot to hell when Rick gets back. He's called an urgent meeting and we're all gathered in Deanna's living room to hear whatever unsettling news he's got for us.

*Adrienne's POV*

There's a quarry full of walkers just west of Alexandria. A herd bigger than any we've seen before, Rick says. Hundreds and hundreds of 'em, blocked in by some abandoned semi trucks. I'm seated beside Daryl on the window seat in Deanna's living room, all of us gathered at an impromptu meeting to discuss how to eliminate this new, massive fucking problem. Rick's got a plan in place already, but it'll only work if we can get everyone on board. He's suggesting we lure them out, break down an exit, control the direction in which the herd flows, lead them the hell away from here.

"My team… we saw it early on," Heath, one of Alexandria's runners, tells us. "Back when we were on one of those first scouts, findin' out what was around here. There was a camp at the bottom. The people there must've blocked the exits with one of those trucks back when everything started to go bad. They didn't make it, they were all roamers. Maybe a dozen of 'em."

"And no one's been back since?" Maggie questions from her position on the sofa between Sasha and Glenn.

"DC, every town worth scavenging are all in the other direction," Heath points out, shaking his head. "And I never really felt like havin' a picnic next to the camp that ate itself."

I snort. Touché. Heath and his crew, Scott and Annie, had left for a run a couple days before Aaron brought us here. They just got back today. Arriving home is supposed to be a relief. I feel a little bit bad that they came back to discover three of their own dead. This quarry bullshit is just the cherry on top.

"So all the while the walkers have been drawn by the sound…" Michonne muses.

"And they're makin' more sound, drawin' more in to make  _ more _ sound," I finish, springing to my feet and pacing back and forth in front of Daryl.

"And here we are," Rick says heavily. "Now, what I'm proposing, I know it sounds risky… but walkers are already slippin' through the exits. One of the trucks keepin' the walkers in could go off the edge any day now. Maybe after one more hard rain. That exit sends them east. All of 'em, right at us."

"If it gives," Spencer points out, evidently not understanding the gravity of our royally fucking  _ fucked _ position.

"There  _ is _ no if," I hiss. "It's  _ when. _ "

Daryl snatches my hand as I pass again, pulling me back down beside him.

"She's right," Rick nods. "It's gonna happen. That's why we have to do this soon."

"This is, uh… I don't even have another word for it," Carol murmurs, playing the part of deer in the headlights expertly. "This is terrifying. All of it. But it doesn't sound like there's any other way."

"Maybe there is," one of the Alexandrians, Carter, counters. "I mean… couldn't we just build up the weak spots? I, I, I could draw up plans. I worked on the wall with Reg. Construction crew… we can try and make it safe."

"Even if we had time for that, doesn't eliminate the sound issue," I point out. "That quarry is a big ass homin' signal for walkers and it's right in our backyard."

"Building up the exits won't change that," Rick adds.

"We're gonna do what Rick says," Deanna states firmly, speaking for the first time. "The plan he's laid out."

"I told you all, we're gonna have Daryl leadin' 'em away," Rick addresses us, now with Deanna's endorsement.

This is the only part of the plan I have a problem with. Daryl acting as walker bait, Pied Piper-ing them away from here on his bike. But he'd agreed already, not a single question asked.

"Rick-" I start.

"Adie, I already told you where I need you," he sighs. "The plan only works if-"

"I'll go," Sasha cuts in, catching the look in my eyes and nodding. "I'll take a car, ride next to him. Can't just be him. I'll keep 'em comin', Daryl keeps 'em from gettin' sloppy."

"I'll go with her," Abraham volunteers. "It's a long way to white-knuckle it solo."

"All right, we'll have two teams," Rick concedes. "One on each side of the forest helpin' manage this thing. We're gonna have a few people on watch from now on. Rosita, Spencer, and Holly. So they're out. So who's in?"

There's a small chorus of general assent throughout the room. Glenn, Michonne, a couple Alexandrians.

"I'd like to help as well," Father Gabriel raises his hand.

"No," Rick shuts him down immediately. "Who else? We need more."

"There's gotta be another play," Carter insists. "We can't just control that many."

"I said it before, walkers herd up," Rick reiterates. "They'll follow a path if somethin's drawin' 'em. That's how we can get 'em all at once."

"So, what, we're, we're supposed to just take your word for it?" Carter demands. "We're all supposed to just fall in line behind you after…"

He trails off, the room going silent.

"After what?" Rick challenges.

"After you wave a gun around screaming, pointin' it at people," Carter sneers. "After you shoot a man in the face. After you-"

"Enough!" Deanna barks, silencing the room once more.

"I'll do it," Heath says after a moment.

"Me, too," Francine, one of the lady Alexandrians, volunteers.

"Whatever you need," Tobin announces. "I'm in."

"Now who else?" Deanna demands.

"I'll go," Nicholas raises his hand, despite Glenn's shaking head. "We have to do this. I need to help."

He's the reason Glenn missed the meeting last night. They came back bloody and bruised, Glenn spouting some story about walkers, but I just don't buy it. I think Nicholas jumped him and Glenn's covering for him. Glenn saves people. Even people who don't deserve it.

"You sure you can handle it?" Rick questions pointedly.

"You need people," Nicholas nods, attempting to play the white knight despite having been the direct cause of Noah's death.

"We'll make this work," Rick says. "We'll keep this place safe, keep our families safe. We will."

"The plan… go through it again," Carter demands.

"Man, he just said it!" Daryl snaps, grabbing hold of my shoulders as I prepare to launch myself across the room at Carter.

"Every part," Carter insists. "Again. The  _ exact _ plan."

Christ. Rick obliges, several of us crowding around a map so Carter can get a visual of the  _ exact _ plan.

"Marshall and Redding," Rick announces, pointing to where the two streets intersect on the map. "We force 'em west here."

"How?" Deanna demands.

"Block it off so they can only go one way, west, away from the community," Rick says.

"Block it off with what?" Carter questions.

"Cars," Rick suggests. "We'll use the RVs, some of the bigger trucks, park 'em end to end."

"We'll be drawing them away," Michonne assures Carter. "They're gonna keep moving."

"Yeah, but that many?" Carter asks derisively. "Just bouncing off some  _ sedans? _ And then when they start slippin' through and the ones that walk away start distractin' the rest and you  _ stop _ drawin' them away?"

"Shit," I mutter. "He's got a point. We need somethin' stronger."

"We got plates," Eugene pipes up. "The big ass metal ones from the construction site. We could use them to fortify the whip wall. It'd help disperse the force of impact and direct the walkers clean. Like a pool table. Eight ball, corner pocket."

"That's an  _ army _ out there," Carter insists. "And what, what happens when this doesn't hold? And they push on through? The curve in this hillside is gonna send them right back east. Right back  _ here. _ You seriously wanna risk that?"

"No," Rick says emphatically. "So you need to help us to make it hold."

"These walls, you built 'em," Morgan points out. "So you've already done the impossible."

"Carter," Deanna says imploringly. "Please."

"We're gonna do it, with or without your help," I point out. "So you might as well make yourself useful, do your part."

In the end, Carter reluctantly agrees. We have to get this done as soon as possible, so we all gather every single shovel, hoe, and wheelbarrow we can find and start loading up the vehicles. Time to go dig a trench and some post holes. I hop into one of the trucks, but before I can pull away, Daryl opens the door and slips into the passenger seat.

"You're not takin' the bike?"

"Nah," he shrugs. "I'm gon' ride with you, save some gas."

"Yes, I'm sure fuel efficiency is your only motive here," Carol teases, hopping onto the running board before Daryl can close the door. "Scoot."

Daryl flushes and slides into the middle beside me, Carol smugly settling into the passenger seat. For a moment all I can think about is Daryl's arm pressed against mine, the warmth of his skin... I shake my head and start the truck, following Rick's RV through the gates. It's only about 10 miles out. The drive is short and silent. Mostly.

"Since when do you drive like a geriatric?" Carol blurts.

"What?" I question, affronted. "What's wrong with my drivin'?"

"Nothin', if you ain't got nowhere to be," Daryl quips.

"I'm goin' 65!" I protest. "That's way over what the speed limit used to be, come on."

"Adie, sweetie, speed limits aren't a thing anymore," Carol pouts comically. "You can go as fast as you want now."

"Laugh it up, assholes," I say flatly, pointedly slowing to a crawl while the two of them giggle like children. "I'll turn this thing around and take y'all right back home."

They continue to laugh at my expense, and I speed back up. I can't even be mad, not when Daryl's laughing like this. It's the first genuine laugh I've heard from him in months and I'm relishing in the sound. We pull up next to Rick's RV just as Abraham Eugene, Carter, and Tobin arrive from the other direction with the lumber and plates from the construction site.

"What happened?" Rick questions with a smirk as I slide out of the truck. "You get your lead foot replaced with somethin' a little more light weight?"

"You know what?" I demand, Daryl and Carol having heard the comment and erupting into another fit of laughter. "You all can suck it."

-

Daryl's been by my side most of the day, never straying too far from me, and, despite the terribly distracting rush of heat in my veins every time he glances shyly at me from beneath his lashes or  _ accidently _ brushes up against me, we're making quick time, all of us working in tandem with each other. This could work.

If we keep working together, this really could work.


	64. Last Door on the Right

**Chapter 64**

*Daryl's POV*

I don't know how the hell she does it, but even drenched in sweat and caked in dirt, Frankenstein stitches above her eye, Adie still manages to look perfect. I ain't the only one noticing, neither. Part of me wants to tear Carter's eyes out just for looking, but mostly I don't mind. She ain't looking at him but, every so often, when she stops to push her curls from her face, her eyes meet mine and she grins and time stands still for a moment or two or ten. I ain't never seen her look at nobody else like that. I'll love her for the rest of my life, I swear to god.

"Daryl," Jessie's voice yanks me from my thoughts as she approaches. "Would you mind giving this to her?"

She places a thick, black hair elastic into my hand, nodding in Adrienne's direction.

"She won't take it if I offer it to her, but… this heat, with that hair? She looks like she could use it."

"All right," I nod, and she smiles gratefully, heading back to the hole she's been digging.

I make my way over to Adrienne, holding the elastic gingerly between my thumb and index finger.

"I saw her give it to you," she says breathlessly, glaring at the hair accessory as though it's insulted her with it's very existence.

"She said you wouldn't take it from her."

"She's probably right," she concedes with a sigh, taking the elastic.

She piles her hair atop her head and secures it with the hair tie.

"If I had a brain in my head, I'd cut it all off," she mutters to herself, an errant crimson lock already tumbling loose.

Christ, I hope not. I hope she never cuts her hair. I'll find her a million hair ties if I need to.

"Nah," I scoff, tucking the unruly curl behind her ear. "You wouldn't."

"Thanks," she beams. "And I would."

"Mhmm," I grunt, my attention now focused on Rick.

He's saying something to Carter. It's looking like there might be a fight brewing. Then I hear them. I draw my crossbow. Adrienne pulls her knife at the same time and the two of us sprint towards the walkers shambling out from the woods, heading for Carter and a few other Alexandrians standing near one of the metal plates we've put up. Before anyone can do anything, Rick stops us, holding a hand up.

"Use your shovels," he instructs, the fearful Alexandrians huddling against the plate. "The guns'll draw more."

"Help us!" Carter cries.

"Rick, I'm not sure this is what I'd call a teachable moment!" Adie hisses.

"You can do this," he says calmly. "You need to, all of you."

I lower my weapon. He ain't wrong, they gotta learn eventually. Morgan's got other ideas, though.

"Morgan, don't!" Rick orders as Morgan flings himself towards the walkers, Michonne and Adrienne right behind him.

But no one's listening. Adrienne quickly takes down two walkers, whirling around and plunging her knife into a third just before it reaches Carter. I fire a bolt into another. Michonne, Rick, Maggie, and Morgan take down one each and then it's over. Adrienne yanks my arrow from the downed walker and I take it from her, wiping it on my rag before putting it back in the quiver while she turns to help Carter up. He's staring at her hand, a mixture of fear and admiration in his eyes, like he's impressed but he also ain't sure she ain't gonna kill him. That's fair.

"You said you don't take chances anymore," Morgan says pointedly, he and Rick staring each other down.

"He doesn't," Adrienne says defensively.

After taking out the walkers, we spend the rest of the day finishing the wall. It don't look like much for the amount of effort it took, but it'll hold. We'll use the cars and trucks to line the road leading out of the quarry, should keep 'em in a straight line. They'll hit the wall land change course right here and me, Sasha, and Abe'll take 'em the rest of the way.

"Incredible what a group of amateurs can do under the threat of imminent death, huh?" Adrienne murmurs, eyeing the wall as we pull away.

Carol opted to ride back with Rick and Morgan, promising we'd see her for dinner. It's the first time we've been alone all day and I can't stop thinking about… about what happened last night. About the way she felt, the sounds she made, the way she looked, that moment the world went white and something unseen reached into my guts and tore everything out, rearranging my cells and putting me back together again…

Does that make me a creep, thinking about it? Is  _ she _ thinking about it? Was I… was it okay for her? She seemed to enjoy it, though. I think. I'm too much of a pussy to just ask her. We pull through the gates and she glances over at me, grinning as she cuts the engine, and just like that, the insecurity melts away.

"You all right?" She questions, tucking the keys into her pocket.

"Mhmm," I tell her. "Stay there."

I climb out before she can question it, before I can lose my nerve, rounding the back of the truck to the driver's side and opening her door. Always saw 'em do this in movies, open doors for girls. Ain't never done it til now and I feel kinda dumb about it, but the look on her face is worth it. I offer her my hand and she slips on down out of the cab, smiling at me with them dimples and I can't help myself. Been wanting to kiss her all day and finally we ain't busy,  _ finally _ we got a moment to ourselves, nothing requiring our attention for a few blissful goddamn seconds.

I press my lips to hers, marveling at how soft they feel against mine. She weaves her fingers through my hair and when she leans up into the kiss, running her tongue over my bottom lip, I think I might actually be dying. I can taste the salt on her skin and she smells a little like dirt and a lot like hard work and it's the goddamn hottest fucking thing ever.

*Adrienne's POV*

I could stay like this forever. Unfortunately, forever is cut short. Rick clears his throat and Daryl shoots back as though he's just been electrocuted. Damn it.

"Carol wanted us to go get some things from Olivia," he announces, smirking when he meets my murderous gaze.

"And that takes  _ four _ of us?" I demand indignantly.

"Carol's orders," Morgan says solemnly, eyes glimmering with amusement.

"Guess it can't wait then," I mutter sarcastically.

"We also need to turn in our weapons," Rick says, annoyance flashing in his eyes. "I'm still tryin' to talk Deanna into lettin' us carry inside the walls."

"Fine."

I take Daryl's hand and squeeze briefly. He meets my eyes and he looks so freaked out. Like a kid caught doing something awful. I'm gonna kick Rick's ass for this. Every damn time Daryl let's down his guard for five fucking seconds, Rick or Glenn or Abe are around to fuck it all up. Dicks. I give Daryl a quick peck on the cheek and then the four of us tromp on over to Olivia's.

When we open the door, we're met with the sight of Eugene cowering on the floor. Carter is standing above him with a pistol. What the fuck? Can't we ever just have one normal damn day?

"What the hell's goin' on?" Rick questions calmly. "What're you doin'?"

"I'm taking this place back from you," Carter spits.

What, by killing  _ Eugene? _ I almost laugh. Almost. Way to go after the biggest fish, dumbass. Still, Eugene is our fish and we'll kill for him.

"That's what you were talkin' about in here?" Rick demands, eyeing the small group of Alexandrians tucked away in the armory.

"That's what  _ he _ was talkin' about," Spencer tattles, eyeing Carter pointedly.

"You didn't think to set up  _ lookouts? _ " I question, baffled by the stupidity.

"No, see that would've… that would've been the smart thing," Rick nods, inching closer to Carter. "You know, if I happened to-"

He doesn't finish, opting instead to disarm Carter while the Alexandrians are distracted. He takes the gun and knocks Carter to his knees.

"You really think you're gonna take this community from us?" He snarls, the barrel now aimed at the back of Carter's head. "From Glenn? From Michonne? From Daryl, from Adrienne, from  _ me? _ Do you have any idea who you're talkin' to?"

"It was just me," Carter whispers defeatedly.

"What?" Rick demands.

"It was, it was just me," Carter whimpers. "Just… just kill me."

Rick is considering his options. He could kill him. So easily. But then what? We're down a man and back at square one with Deanna.

"Nope," I announce. "Nope, it doesn't get to be that easy."

I reach for the gun, waiting for Rick to make the obvious decision and place it in my hands.

"Rick," Daryl prompts.

"I'm good," he says, handing the gun to me. "You can try to work with us. You can try to survive. Would you do that?"

Carter scrambles to his feet and gets the hell outta dodge. I assume he's headed off to hide in his house. I pull Eugene to his feet, then we check in our weapons with Olivia, grab what Carol needs, and leave the Alexandrians to their plotting. I guess smart and nefarious don't always go hand in hand.

Carol cooks dinner for us and the rest of the evening is uneventful. We discuss the plan. Rick's decided we're good to go ahead and try a dry run tomorrow, but the more we talk about it… My stomach is in ropes. This is the only plan, the only thing that has any hope of working. But so many things could go wrong, and something inevitably  _ will _ go wrong. Something always does. Anxiety is gnawing at my insides. I can't shake the feeling… people are gonna die.

*Daryl's POV*

Adie's been quiet all night. She's unsettled and that ain't like her. After she'd helped Carol wash the dinner dishes, she'd headed straight for the shower. I'm just sitting here on the porch waiting for her when Carol joins me outside.

"Hey," she greets, taking a seat beside me.

"Hey," I grunt, watching the sunset fade into dark.

"I offered the extra room upstairs to Adie," she informs me. "Thought she could use a night in an actual bed. She told me she's staying wherever you're staying, so..."

"Hm."

I don't know what the hell she wants me to say to that.

"So, stay in the extra room upstairs," she says, eyeing me. "It's a big bed."

Before I can respond, Jessie's kid, Sam, comes tearing out of Rick's house with Adie's guitar in his hands. He bounds up Carol's porch, thrusting the guitar towards her.

"Rick says to tell you to come get it yourself next time," he says breathlessly.

"I told you not to be seen!" Carol snaps, shooing the kid off her porch. "We'll make cookies tomorrow, now go."

"Why'd you need that?" I question, eyeing the guitar.

"To put in Adie's room," she says matter of factly. "Which, coincidentally, happens to also be your room," her eyes light up like she's just thought of something absolutely brilliant. "I know! Why don't you take this up and I'll tell her to meet you there?"

She don't wait for me to argue, just places the guitar on my lap and flounces, there's no other word for it, she fucking  _ flounces _ back inside. With a sigh, I get to my feet and stomp my way into the house.

"Last door on the right," Carol instructs when I pass her on the stairs.

"Mhmm," I mutter, heading into the room.

Carol's clearly been planning this. Both mine and Adie's packs are on the floor against the closet door. I take a seat by the window just as the water shuts off in the bathroom down the hall.


	65. Just Keep Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains smut, my dudes

**Chapter 65**

*Adrienne's POV*

Carol's insisted Daryl and I take her guest room.  _ Guest room. _ The concept is so foreign at this point. We've barely had regular rooms in god knows how long. Still, I guess if Daryl's staying, I'll stay too. I replay our conversation in my head.

_ "Adie?" _

_ "Yeah?" _

_ "I offered the guest room down the hall to Daryl. He looks like he could use a night in an actual bed." _

_ "Okay?" _

_ "He says he's staying where you're staying. The room's yours, if you want it. I can have him meet you when you're done." _

He's staying where I'm staying. I flush in pleasure. He wants to be where I am. I finish up in the shower and step onto the bath mat, discovering the dark green cargo pants and black tank top Carol had left for me. I chuckle quietly to myself. She knows the colors I like. I pull them on and twist my hair into my towel, then head to the last room on the right at the end of the hallway. I step through the door, eyes settling immediately on Daryl. He's perched on the window seat, my guitar propped beside him.

"Hey," I greet him, closing the door behind me.

"Hey," he echoes, chewing his lip.

I dry my hair quickly, hanging the towel on a hook on the door and switching the overhead light off. Daryl hasn't moved, but in the faint glow of the small lamp on the dresser I can see his eyes are glued to me and I'm suddenly quite shy. I don't know what to say to him. Usually, silence with Daryl is comfortable. Easier than talking at times. But we haven't had a chance to talk about… well, about what happened last night. I don't know if he even wants to talk about it, or if acknowledging it out loud would freak him out.

"Do you… do you mind?" I question, eyeing the guitar beside him.

"Oh, nah," he assures me, plucking the guitar from the floor and placing it in my hands before returning to his position on the window seat.

I perch myself cross-legged on the end of the bed, idly strumming a couple chords. I look at Daryl from beneath my lashes. He's still watching me.

"What's your favorite song?" I blurt.

"I dunno," he says quietly. "Never really had a favorite, mostly jus' listened to whatever Merle was playin' on the radio, usually too pissed off or wasted to give a shit."

"Merle always struck me as a Credence Clearwater fan," I chuckle. "Bad Moon Rising, you know? Probably listened to some Skynard, the Stones…"

"Nah, he was a country fan," Daryl corrects, smiling softly. "Liked all that twangy shit. Fuckin'... Bluegrass or whatever."

"Really?" I question, eyeing him curiously.

"No," He scoffs with a chuckle.

"Oh, thank god," I laugh. "I don't know any of that shit."

"There's a song I liked, I don't remember how it goes… used to come on the radio all the time," he muses. "Somethin' 'bout a stone… I'll wait for you there... Can't remember the name of it."

"Like a Stone?" I question excitedly, singing the first line. "On a cobweb afternoon in a room full of emptiness, by a freeway…"

I trail off and his eyes light up in recognition.

"Mhmm," he nods. "That's the one. Merle didn't like it much, but sometimes it'd come on and he was too high to notice."

"It's by Audioslave," I tell him. "I'm rusty, but I think I…"

I trail off, finding the right notes. I think I remember how to play it…

"On a cobweb afternoon in a room full of emptiness, by a freeway I confess I was lost in the pages… of a book full of death, reading how we'll die alone and if we're good, we'll lay to rest anywhere we wanna go. In your house I long to be…"

I close my eyes, giving myself over to the music.

"I'll wait for you there like a stone. I'll wait for you there alone… alone…"

I finish the song and open my eyes. Daryl is watching me, an expression I can't identify on his face. Suddenly I feel incredibly self conscious. Did he think that was cheesy? Fuck… music is one of the only ways I know how to connect with people, but maybe playing for him was stupid. What is this, a fucking romcom? I slip off the bed and prop the guitar in the corner of the room.

"Audioslave," he murmurs, almost to himself.

"Yeah," I nod, settling back onto the bed. "I liked them a lot before. That song is one of my favorites."

"What's your favorite?" He blurts, dropping his gaze to the floor and chewing his lip.

"Don't Fear the Reaper," I tell him decisively. "Somethin' about it... I just think it's one of the greatest songs ever written."

"I like that one," he nods, the conversation fizzling.

"We should get some sleep," I catch his eye and pat the bed.

"You want the light off?" He questions softly, nodding at the lamp.

I nod, pulling the blanket back and settling in on the side of the bed nearest the door. He switches the lamp off, then hesitantly sinks down onto the bed beside me.

"You all right?" I question softly, leaning back against my pillow.

"Mhmm," he grunts, mirroring my actions.

The two of us lay on our backs, heads on the pillows, silent. We stay this way for a while, but I can tell he's not sleeping. There's a static energy in the quiet, a crackling in the space between us. Every so often I feel his gaze on me.

"Daryl?"

"Hm?"

"Kiss me again."

*Daryl's POV*

"Daryl?"

"Hm?"

My heart is suddenly racing. I can't take my eyes off her lips. Jesus, I want to kiss her. I can't think of anything I've ever wanted more in my whole life and holy shit, that's fucked up.

"Kiss me again."

She wants me to. That's all I need to know. I pull her to me, crashing my lips into hers. There's a warmth spreading through my body I ain't never felt before, like whiskey on an empty stomach but so much better. The smell of her, the taste… cinnamon toothpaste and something else that's just her. It's intoxicating. I pull her closer.

Then she breaks the kiss. She tosses one of her legs over my waist, shifting so she's straddling me.

"This okay?" She questions breathlessly.

Christ, it's more than okay. How is that even a fucking question? Why does she keep asking me that? I nod, placing my hands around her waist, drinking in her features in the moonlight. Even in the near pitch dark, her hair is wildfire, crimson curls tumbling around her face. I reach up and stroke her cheek with my thumb. I'd follow her anywhere.

Before I can find the courage to tell her that, her lips are on mine. Her hands rest against my chest as she kisses me, and something about the way her hips moved just now… I'm hardening beneath her already. She pulls away, her eyes searching. I love her eyes. Wide and honest. She smiles devilishly, then rocks her hips forward.

Holy  _ shit. _ This woman could lead me straight to hell and I'd happily follow, no questions asked. She trails kisses up my jawline to my ear.

"Do you want to?" She whispers, her breath tickling my neck.

"Fuck yes," I blurt.

She wastes no time, pulling her tank top off and tossing it aside. Her lips return to mine, kissing me hungrily. She unbuckles my belt, then tugs at my vest. I sit up, shrugging out of the vest and tossing it to the floor. She rolls off of my lap, leaning against her pillow and toying with the button on her cargos, watching me all the while.

The look on her face… I don't need to guess what she wants. Not this time.

*Adrienne's POV*

I might be teasing him. Just a little. I'm relishing in the look on his face while he watches my hands fiddle with the button on my pants. Suddenly, he's yanking them down my legs, crawling on top of me. I weave my fingers through his hair as his lips crash into mine, his kiss becoming needy. I can feel him pressing against my stomach, stiff and throbbing. I palm him through his pants.

"Take these off," I whisper against his lips.

He rolls off the bed, standing beside me while he kicks off his jeans and boots. I scoot to the edge of the bed, reaching up and unbuttoning his shirt. He shrugs out of it, now down to just boxer shorts. He moves to get back on the bed, but I have another idea.

"Wait," I murmur, and he freezes. "I wanna show you somethin'."

I lean back against the pillows, slipping my hand into my soaking panties. His eyes widen and he swallows hard. I grin lazily up at him, making slow circles around my clit. He sinks onto the edge of the bed, his eyes glued to the hand moving beneath my underwear. I lift my hips, raising up off the mattress and arching an eyebrow questioningly. He takes the hint, pulling my underwear down my legs and tossing them unceremoniously to the floor.

He's staring and I fucking love it. I watch his face as I dip my index finger inside myself, collecting the moisture there and dragging it back to my clit, resuming the slow circles. He palms himself through his shorts, letting out an involuntary gasp. It's my new favorite sound.

"Fuck me, Daryl," I murmur.

He lurches forward, reaching behind me and unhooking my bra. I let it slide down my arms and drop to my belly. He snatches it and flings it across the room, then kisses his way from my lips down to my belly button and back up to my neck. I think I might be melting, his lips leaving my skin on fire, scorched beyond recognition everywhere they touch.

"You are so damn beautiful," he breathes into my ear, and I nearly come undone right there.

I tug his shorts off and he kicks them to the floor. I part my legs for him, waiting with as much patience as I can possibly conjure, which isn't much. He grips my thighs and parts them further and I shiver in anticipation. If he hadn't told me he was a virgin, I'd never have guessed.

He runs his tongue over my folds, grazing my clit with his teeth.

"Daryl!" I cry out, bucking against him.

"Been wantin' to try this," he mutters, closing his mouth around my clit and sucking harshly as he slips a finger inside me.

I whimper and squirm beneath him, but he's relentless. He slips a second finger inside, and I involuntarily buck against him. He flicks the tip of his tongue over the tiny bundle of nerves that will be my undoing, then curls his fingers inside me and how in the holy fucking  _ fuck _ does he know how to do this?

"Oh my god, just like that. Fuck… yes, Daryl, right there!" I whimper, coming undone beneath him.

He plants slow kisses up my body, pressing his lips to mine when he reaches my mouth. I can taste myself on him and good damn it, I didn't know I liked this. I'm trembling, aftershocks still roaring through my body. He's rough, needy, almost demanding this time, yet... still so much gentler when he kisses me like this. Soft, sweet. Like I'm fragile and like I'm worth preserving.

"Was that okay?" He murmurs against my lips.

"That was…" I pant breathlessly. "So good, it was so good. I need..."

I trail off, reaching down and stroke his length before guiding him to my slick entrance. He lets out a primal sounding groan as he sinks into me, reveling in the feeling for a few moments before we begin to move together, creating a slow and perfect rhythm.

It feels like living and dying and being born again all at once, I swear to god. I've never felt anything like this and I know, I  _ know _ this is how it's supposed to be. His breaths become ragged, and I know he's close.

"Turn over," I whisper, breathless.

"What?" He freezes, suddenly unsure.

"Trust me," I meet his eyes, smiling reassuringly.

He turns onto his back, watching me curiously. I kneel beside him, wrapping my hand around his slick, throbbing cock, pumping him a couple times before enveloping his tip in my mouth. The noise that escapes him then… it's almost feral, sending shivers up my spine.

"Adrienne," He rasps, hips bucking involuntarily.

I swirl my tongue around his tip, pumping him as I suck him gently. His hands claw desperately at the sheets and he lets out a string of nearly unintelligible curses when I drag the tip of my tongue down the underside of his shaft before sucking one of his balls into my mouth, then the other. He props himself up on his elbows, watching while I trail my tongue back up his shaft, from base to tip, wrapping my fingers around him and bobbing my head forward until the tip of his cock hits the back of my throat.

"Jesus Christ, Adie," he groans breathlessly, his body dropping down to the bed as I hum around him. "Fuck… I ain't gon'... I ain't gon' last if you keep on like that."

I pull away, his cock leaving my mouth with an audible pop, and position myself above him, lining him up and sinking down onto his shaft, pleasure wracking my body as he whimpers softly. I take his hands, holding them gently above his head while I ride him. Hard.

"Ah… fuck, Adrienne…" he hisses, bucking up into me. "Fuck…"

"Do you like it like this?" I question breathlessly, slowing it down and grinding against him.

"Fuck, don't stop," he breathes, writhing beneath me.

I speed up and he matches my pace, thrusting harder and harder each time I sink down onto him. He only allows me to think I'm in charge of shit for a few more moments before grabbing my ass and holding me still, tight against his body while he turns us over, laying me on my back. He lifts my legs onto his shoulders, reaching new depths as he sinks deeper into me.

"Ah… Jesus Christ." I hiss, adjusting to him.

"Did I hurt you?" He freezes, concerned.

"Yeah, but I like it," I breathe, staring into his eyes. "I want you to."

He stays still, unsure. His hair is hanging loosely around his face, his eyes shrouded in shadow. I push his hair back, forcing him to meet my gaze.

"I love you," I whisper. "Please, I… I need it. Don't stop."

He seems reassured, nodding as he begins to thrust into me. I drag my nails down his chest, grazing his skin. He pounds into me, relentless.

"Touch yourself again," he commands, the demand in his voice sending a curl of pleasure down my spine.

I slip my hand between our bodies and rub my clit, my climax ripping through me almost instantly. It's too much, it's too good. I arch against him, reveling in his weight on top of me, almost smothering me, and it's so good.

"Fuck yes…" he snarls, panting. "Don't you fuckin' stop."

I'm sure we're waking the whole house at this point, but I don't care. He fucks me with reckless, wild abandon. His rhythm becomes sloppy and I know he's right on the edge.

"Come for me, Daryl," I whimper. "Please."

"Adrienne… Adrienne…"

He explodes into my depths, triggering my own climax, and we breathlessly fall apart together. He lifts my legs from his shoulders, collapsing onto me as we lay there, still tangled together like two parts of a single being, fitting each other perfectly. This is how it's  _ supposed _ to be. He rests his head against my heaving chest, his tears mingling with sweat. I hold him close while he softens inside me, kissing the top of his head. I'll never let him go. He lifts his gaze to mine, not bothering to hide the emotion escaping from his eyes as he stares at me in wonder.

"What've you done to me, woman?" He murmurs, running a thumb over my lips.

I kiss away the single tear rolling down his cheek, wrapping my arms around him. I don't think he fully comprehends just how much I love him. He pulls out of me, rolling onto his back. I curl into him and he wraps his arm around me, tracing my hip bone with his fingertips. I feel utterly, completely content.

-

The next thing I'm aware of is a loud knocking at the door. I groan, not ready to move yet. Daryl's arm tightens around me and I nuzzle my head into his chest.

"Good morning!" Carol chirps brightly from the other side of the door.

"Maybe if we ignore her, she'll go away," I murmur sleepily, planting a kiss on Daryl's bare shoulder.

"I know you're awake," she announces, knocking insistently. "If you're not down for breakfast in ten minutes, I'm gonna send Rick in."

"That's just cruel," I groan, sitting up as her footsteps retreat down the hallway.

"She said we got ten minutes," Daryl points out groggily, pulling me back down to his chest as I giggle.

*Daryl's POV*

Approximately nine and a half minutes later, we're fully dressed and seated at the breakfast table. Carol is beaming, and not that fake PTA shit she's been using on the real housewives of Alexandria, neither. She's doting on us like we're her children, glancing happily between us. If it was anyone else, I'd kick their ass up around their ears. But it's Carol.

Adrienne catches my eye, grinning as she pops a spoonful of oatmeal into her mouth. Jesus, this girl… she's temptation like I ain't never known before. Makes me say shit and  _ do _ shit I ain't never thought I would and all I can think about watching her shovel oatmeal into her mouth like it's a timed event is how she looks with other things in her mouth and  _ fuck, _ that's distracting. If I had my way, we'd've never left that bed. Waking up to that face and that voice and  _ her, _ it ain't never gonna get old. The contentment I feel now is short lived, though, our tiny bubble of happiness bursting the moment a grim faced Rick walks in the door.

"Ready?" He questions, eyeing Adrienne and I expectantly.

The two of us rise, following him from the room.

"Be careful," Carol murmurs, closing the front door behind us.

It's just a dry run, just a dress rehearsal to be sure everyone knows what's up. I just can't shake the feeling that shit's about to go down.

*Adrienne's POV*

"All right, this is the finish line," Rick announces, our group standing in a clearing west of the quarry. "When we make it back to green, we fall back. The ditches and ridges'll keep 'em on the road. We head home, but Daryl, Sasha, and Abraham take them the rest of the way. Twenty miles more."

Almost involuntarily, I take Daryl's hand in mine. He looks down at me, no doubt concerned at the vice grip I now have on his fingers. I hate this part of the plan, I desperately want to be on the back of that bike or at least in the car with Sasha and Abraham. I never want to lose sight of Daryl, not when any moment could be our last.

"All right, let's go," Rick orders.

Once again, we're off. We trek through the woods to the quarry, gathering at the edge and staring down into the sea of decaying, bloodthirsty monsters. Rick wasn't exaggerating. Hundreds of them, growling, shambling about aimlessly at the bottom of the pit, the noise deafening. This plan has to work.

"I know this sounds insane," Rick announces, shouting to be heard over the singular roar of the walkers' combined snarls. "But this is an insane world. We have to come for them before they come for us. It's that simple. This is where it all starts tomorrow. Tobin gets in the truck, opens the exit and we're off. He hops out, catches up with his team at red staying on the  _ west _ side of the road. Daryl gets on his bike-"

He's interrupted by the unmistakable groan of metal against metal, one of the semis teetering on the edge of the far side of the quarry. The ground beneath it is starting to give, crumbling as the walkers push against it.

"You see that?" Sasha points to the offending semi.

"Jesus, Rick, that thing's comin' down!" I holler. "Now!"

Sure enough, the truck topples over the edge and into the quarry below. The walkers are no longer blocked in. I snatch Daryl's hand again, squeezing tight. There's no time to say it out loud, we have to move, but I hope he knows I love him and I'm not sorry and that we can do this because we can do anything, we can get through it. He meets my eyes and for a split second I think he's gonna say something, but he doesn't, turning away and aiming his crossbow at the walkers now worming their way between the two semis nearest us.

"It's open, we gotta do this now!" Rick roars.

He continues to holler orders, most everyone already sprinting to their places. Carter insists we're not ready, but we have to be because this is what's happening. We don't get to choose. I scramble up the side of the truck beside the one Tobin is supposed to move, pulling out the flare gun I've been supplied and waiting for Rick's command. I drop to my belly, flush against the top of the trailer so I can't be seen from the ground, and lay out more flares to load as I fire.

"They're headed for home, we don't have a choice!" Rick snarls. "Adie, hit the flares! Now!"

I start shooting, sending flares westward after Sasha and Abraham's car. They're leaving first, Daryl's gonna meet 'em at red. The flares will serve as tiny beacons for the bastards to follow, just in case Daryl's roaring motor isn't enough on its own. My job is to stay here and make sure every last dead fucker crawls out of that quarry and follows him.

"You all have your assignments," Rick's voice squawks from the radio clipped to my belt. "You know where to rendezvous. Daryl leads 'em out. Sasha and Abraham join 'im at the bottom of the hill. Glenn, you hit us when you take care of the walkers at the tractor place."

The tractor place. Rendon. It's full of walkers, all of 'em snarling and beating on the windows, doors, the walls. Daryl, Sasha, and Abe are gonna be leading the quarry herd right past that place and if the dead ones inside are still making noise, some of the herd will break off towards the sound. Glenn, Heath, and Nicholas are headed there to clear it before that can happen.

"That's the one thing we gotta get ahead of," Rick continues. "Adie, give us a shout when the quarry's clear then meet us at yellow. Everybody keep your heads. Just keep up."

I'm gonna be here for a while. The herd shambles out, steady but slow. I've lost sight of anyone else, it's just me left here among the dead. I square my shoulders and shoot another flare, watching the corpses stumble along as the rumble of Daryl's engine fades, leaving nothing behind but the roar of the endless stream of corpses.

*Daryl's POV*

Adie's upset she ain't on the road beside me, but I feel like she's in more danger. It don't sit right, leaving her on her own back there. It ain't like we had a lot of choice, though. She's our best in combat, better even than Abraham, and the only one Rick was comfortable with handling the quarry. I'm rolling slowly down the road, just fast enough to outpace the walkers.

"We're at red," Sasha's voice comes over the radio. "At the bottom of the hill."

"All right, here comes the parade," I grunt. 

"Glenn, you there yet?" Rick questions breathlessly, presumably having reached yellow.

"Almost," Glenn's voice crackles. "We'll have it handled before they get here. And we'll meet you at yellow."

"Copy that," Rick acknowledges. "Adie, how's it lookin'?"

"Well, these assholes aren't winnin' any races," Adrienne hisses, indignant. "Not quite half empty, but they're fallin' in line nicely."

Even annoyed, her voice may as well be Beethoven's ninth fuckin' symphony to me. Not that I'd recognize Beethoven's ninth, but it must've been good, right?

"Copy," Rick squawks.

A few minutes later, me and the crowd of dead motherfuckers behind me reach Sasha and Abraham at the bottom of the hill. Sasha pulls ahead of me and we keep on rolling to yellow, where Marshall and Redding intersect. Morgan, Rick, and Michonne are waiting behind the wall, their flares going up soon as Sasha, Abraham, and I turn to head west on Redding.

"Adie, you on your way yet?" Rick's voice crackles over the radio.

"Uh, yeah, about that," Adie replies breathlessly. "They're all out, headin' after Daryl, Sasha, and Abraham."

"So what's the hold up?" Rick questions, annoyance seeping into his tone.

"I got a couple stragglers tryin' to- oh, Christ!" She curses and my blood turns to ice in my veins. "Tryin' to scale the trailer or- god damn it! Or knock me off of it."

"How many?" Rick demands. "What drew 'em away from the rest?"

"Eleven, now," Adie's voice crackles. "I don't know what drew 'em, might've been the flares, might've been the radio. There were bound to be a few, though."

"You need backup?" Rick questions.

"Nah, I got 'em," she replies, a bit too confidently for my liking. "I'll meet y'all soon."

"Let us know when you're en route," Rick orders.

"Copy."

I don't know how I feel about god, but whatever the hell is out there, I'm silently pleading with it to keep her safe. This can't be the last time I hear her voice. Please.  _ Please. _

*Adrienne's POV*

"Copy," I mutter, eyeing the not quite dozen stragglers as they hurl themselves into the side of the trailer.

Fuckers. I carefully step my way onto the cab of the actual truck and slide down the windshield onto the hood. I'm still quite a ways from the ground, but I can reach the tall ones. They begin to converge around me, all outstretched limbs and gnashing teeth. I plunge my knife into the eye socket of the nearest one, then yank it out and repeat the process with another two.

The rest are too short for me to reach from here, so I'm forced to clamber down to the ground. They're slow and easily confused, so my best bet is to keep moving. I dart, duck, dodge and weave around them, burying my blade in their skulls one by one. It's sick, and I know it, but I get a tiny thrill each time I manage to take another down, evading death again and again.

It takes less than ten minutes and I'm panting heavily, covered in blood and sweat and brain matter, surrounded by downed corpses. I glance down into the quarry, sweeping it for any other stragglers. There are none. I'm done here. I yank Daryl's bolt from the walker he'd taken down before speeding away on the bike. Only got so many of these.

"Rick," I bark into the radio, breaking into a sprint. "We're good, I'm on my way."

"Copy."

I haul ass to yellow and the moment I catch up with Rick, Morgan, and Michonne, the four of us are off and running to meet Glenn's and Tobin's teams in the woods just north of the road.

"It's working," Carter nods, eyeing Rick. "You were right."

The two men shake hands, seemingly having settled their disagreements now that Carter is done being a hating ass motherfucker.

"Everyone, we need to finish this," Rick announces. "We have to keep movin' and fan out down that thing, front to back. Like we said, cops at a parade. Glenn, you take the back. Adie, take center. You two have the other walkies. If it gets sloppy, we fire our weapons, pull 'em back on track. Adie, you good on ammo?"

"Got a full clip, a couple extra mags," I tell him. "And a few more flares if we need."

"Almost a dozen walkers 'n you didn't fire a shot?" He demands incredulously.

"I didn't wanna draw any more from the herd," I shrug.

"You're insane," Glenn sputters.

"We're wastin' time," I counter. "Let's go."

"I'll hit the front," Carter volunteers.

"Okay, one after the other," Rick concedes, and we fan out.

We seem to be golden, the herd stumbling along as uniformly as could be expected, considering they're dead and all, until someone screams. Who is that? I can't tell. Tobin? Nah, his team is on the other side of the road. The scream is closer than that. Carter, maybe? Fuck, some of the walkers are breaking from the herd, shambling in the direction of the noise.

"Tobin, they're breakin' off," Rick's voice crackles over the radio.

"What do you want us to do?" Tobin questions.

"Fire your guns 'n draw 'em back," Rick orders.

The screams continue for a few moments, whoever it is wailing hysterically. The gunfire across the road is effective though, drawing the straying walkers back into the herd. The screams stop abruptly. We lost somebody. God damn it. I sprint in the direction the screams had come from, reaching the scene the same time as Michonne. Morgan and Rick are here, Carter's bloodied body lying prone on the ground. Shit. Looks like a walker took him by surprise, took a chunk out of his face. Rick must have put him down.

"It's working!" Tobin's voice comes over the walkie. "The gunfire is bringing them back on the road."

"You got 'em, Tobin," Rick murmurs into the radio.

"Copy that," Tobin replies. "What was that screaming?"

"That was Carter," Rick announces. "He got bit, right in the face. I stopped him."

Oh, hell. Carter was Tobin's friend. I know this is the way shit is right now, but surely Rick could've dropped the news just a hair more gently.

"Way to be fuckin' tactful, Rick," I hiss, elbowing him in the arm.

"You know as well as I do he was dead already," Rick retorts. " _ Before  _ he was bit. We have a good hour til we have 'em to green when we hand 'em off to Daryl, Sasha, and Abraham."

He eyes Morgan, who is still staring at the dead man in the dirt.

"Why don't you head back, tell everyone what's happening?" He suggests. "They should know."

"Okay, Rick, I just-" Morgan starts to protest, but Rick is adamant.

"Will you do that for me?" He presses.

Morgan nods, silent and stoic, as another walker emerges from within the trees.

"I'll take care of that one," Rick volunteers. "Michonne, you take point. Adie, you're with us. Let's go."

Morgan heads back home as Rick takes out the walker. Rick, Michonne, and I continue our way to green. We're making good progress, this nightmare almost over, when the sound of a horn pierces the air. It's not a quick blast, either. This horn is stuck, or maybe someone's leaning on it, the noise shrieking over the trees.

"Jesus Christ!" I snarl. "Whatever that is, it's pullin' em off the road."

"Whatever it is, it's far," Michonne points out. "It sounds like it's comin' from-"

"Home," Rick finishes for her, the three of us breaking into a sprint.


	66. Tough Shit, Cupcake

**Chapter 66**

*Daryl's POV*

"Tobin, it's not stopping!" Rick's voice crackles over the radio. "Light it up! You hear me?"

What ain't stopping? There's no response. Jesus, what the hell is happening?

"Tobin!" Rick barks.

"Rick!" I snarl into the radio.

"I'm here," he says breathlessly.

"What's goin' on back there?"

"Half of them broke off," he informs me, and I know Adie must be right beside him because I can hear her cussing up a storm in the background. "They're goin' toward Alexandria."

" _ Towards _ you?" Abraham's voice comes over the radio.

"We ran ahead," Adrienne's breathless, harried voice replies. "There's a- shit! A horn or somethin'."

"Loud, comin' from the east," Rick confirms. "It's not stoppin'."

"I'm gon' gas it up, turn back," I tell him.

"We have it, you keep goin'!" Rick orders.

"They're gonna need our help!" I protest.

"Gotta keep the herd movin'!" Rick counters.

"Not if it's goin' down, we don't!" I snap.

"The rest of that herd turns around, the bad back there gets worse!" Rick insists.

I fall silent. Carol's back there, Adrienne's  _ headed _ back there… I can't just fuckin' ignore it.

"Daryl?" Rick barks.

"Yeah, I heard you."

*Adrienne's POV*

"Yeah, I heard you."

Something in his tone bothers me. He doesn't agree, wants to circle back and help. Jesus. He  _ has _ to keep going, keep leading the rest of them away. I hope like hell he listens, but it's a pretty strong possibility he's already made up his mind and turned around.

"All right, listen up," Rick orders. "Here's the new plan. I go back, get the RV, circle around the woods on Redding. I'll get in front of 'em before they get there, I can lead 'em away again."

"RV's a mile back," one of the Alexandrians points out. "I can go with you."

"I'll handle it," Rick assures him. "Just get home. They might need you there. Glenn, Michonne, Adie."

He motions for us to follow him away from the others for a moment.

"If somethin's in front of you, you kill it," he orders. "No hiding, no waiting. You keep goin'."

"I'm going with you!" Glenn insists. "You can't do this on your own."

"Glenn, I can do this," Rick argues.

"You need to help me," Michonne points out. "We gotta get these people back."

"Yeah," Rick agrees, eyeing the group behind us. "Thing is, they aren't all gonna make it."

"Rick," Michonne chides, horrified.

"You try to save 'em, you  _ try, _ but if they can't keep up, you keep goin'," Rick insists. "You have to. You make sure  _ you  _ get back."

"Rick, take Adie with you," Glenn says firmly, nudging me forward. "You need to get back, too. Me and Michonne can handle this on our own."

"Fine, just-"

Before Rick can finish, one of the group screams. Shit. One of the Alexandrians, I don't know his name. A walker has just stumbled out of the trees and chomped down on his jugular. We sprint towards him, but it's too late. Michonne plunges her katana into his skull, mercy killing him rather than letting him suffer and turn. Suddenly, the horn stops blaring. The abrupt silence is deafening, the kind of quiet that feels like your eardrums are smothered in vaseline.

"The horn stopped," Rick announces unnecessarily, crouching down beside our fallen comrade and relieving him off his weapons. "Good. Get back safe."

With that, he motions for me to follow him and we disappear into the woods. I glance back at Glenn and Michonne, both of them nodding at me. This could be it. The last time we ever see each other. I love them. They're my family. This is how it is now. I just hope they get home in one piece.

*Daryl's POV*

I ain't just gonna ride off into the damn sunset when people back home need me. This is bullshit.

"Hey!" I holler. "We gone five miles out yet?"

"Give or take some yardage," Abraham replies. "You got a reason for askin'?"

"Next intersection we're gon' spin around 'n go back."

"The plan is to go fifteen more!" Sasha reprimands.

"Yeah, I'm gon' change that," I counter. "Five's gon' have to work."

"The magic number's 20," Abraham argues. "That's the mission. That's makin' sure they're off munchin' on infirm raccoons the rest of their undead lives instead of any of us."

"You wanna go, we can't stop you," Sasha points out. "But without you, they could stop us."

God fucking damn it. I ain't never been this torn in my damn life. Maybe the herd could stop 'em. Maybe. I ain't convinced, though. These two can take care of themselves. The people back home need me more. Adrienne… Christ, I know she can handle herself, but if something happens to her and I ain't there, if I didn't do everything I could to stop it… I can't. I gotta go back.

"Nah," I tell Sasha. "I got faith in you."

"Daryl!" She hollers as I speed up.

"Don't do it, man!" Abraham roars.

But I ain't listening. I can hear Merle in my head, laughing it up, calling me whipped. I don't give a fuck. I'm goin' back.

*Adrienne's POV*

Rick and I are running like hell back towards yellow, back to the intersection at Marshall and Redding. We're making good time but, despite that fact, it feels like time is standing still. Like we're running through cement. We've just come across a few walkers in the road when Glenn's voice filters from our walkies.

"Rick, Adie, it's Glenn," the radio crackles as Rick and I dispatch the trio of hungry walkers. "We're in a town five degrees east of the green marker. If you get around on Redding in the next 20 minutes, you guys should be good. I think that's how far we're ahead of the herd. I'm gonna try to set a fire and distract 'em. If you don't see smoke, they're still coming your way."

"Copy," I bark into the walkie, plunging Daryl's bolt -which has come in quite handy, I must say- into the last walker.

"I gotta go," Glenn continues. "Adie, just… be careful, okay? And Rick? Good luck, dumbass."

"You, too, Glum," I pant into the radio. "Be safe."

We've taken them all down, but Rick's managed to injure his hand somehow. He's cut, bleeding.

"Jesus, Rick," I breathe sharply. "Your hand."

"I'm fine, let's go."

So we keep running. Last time we ran this far, this fast, Rick had Carl in his arms. He'd been shot. I remember it vividly, though it feels like several lifetimes ago. The deep scarlet of Carl's blood, Rick's ragged sobs, Shane screaming abuse at Otis to get him to  _ move… _

We've made it, finally. We hurl ourselves into the RV. I shove past Rick, slinging myself into the driver's seat so he doesn't have to drive with one hand.

"Go!" He snarls desperately. "Go, go!"

I start the engine and floor it, whipping around on Redding to cut off the herd. Even pushing 100 miles an hour, it still feels too slow, like we're too late. The road is clear. I see no walkers, not a single fucking one. No smoke, either. They're coming.

"Here," Rick orders, and the brakes squeal as I bring the RV to a stop. "Glenn," he mutters into the radio. "We're in place by my best guess. You guys make it back yet?"

We're met with crackling silence. My heart plummets, landing somewhere in my lower belly.

"Glenn!" I hiss into the walkie, but it remains stubbornly static.

"Tobin, you there?" Rick tries, yet again met with nothing but a hollow buzzing. "Daryl?"

My gut tightens, my body physically preparing itself for the worst. It's silent for a few moments, and my heart falls through my body, landing somewhere outside myself.

"I'm here," Daryl's voice crackles over the radio.

Rick meets my eyes. I must look a fucking wreck, because he squeezes my hand before replying. He's alive. He's alive.  _ He's alive. _ That's all that matters to me right now. It's selfish, it's so _ selfish, _ but all I can think is not him. Take anyone else, just don't take him.

*Daryl's POV*

"Won't be long now," Rick informs me. "They're almost here. We'll get 'em goin' your way again."

My way. Fuck. Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck. _ What the hell am I doing?

"How 'bout that, Daryl?" Sasha's voice snaps pointedly. "They're gonna be comin' our way."

"There's gunfi- shit, Adie, that stings!" Rick hisses.

He must still be holding the button down, because I can hear Adie's voice clearly.

"Tough shit, cupcake, I'm wrappin' it," she retorts, Rick sighing heavily. "Hold still."

"There's gunfire comin' from back home," Rick starts again. "We gotta sit with it and hope they can handle it. I think they can." 

"They're gonna have to," Adie points out.

"We keep goin' forward for them," Rick continues. "Can't turn back 'cause we're afraid."

"We ain't afraid," Abraham's voice comes over the radio, adamant.

"This is for them," Rick says, and I swear on everything I give a shit about he  _ knows _ I'm headed home. "Goin' back now before it's done, that'd be for us. The herd has to be almost here."

"Rick!" Adrienne hisses, alarm lacing her voice.

Gunshots erupt, and that's the last thing I hear before the radio turns static. No… no, no, no, no, no! What's happening?

"Rick!" I bark into the walkie. "Adrienne!"

There's no reply.

"Rick! Adie!"

Fuck. I gotta turn back. Finish what we started. Turning around, that was for me. It's selfish. I gotta trust.

*Adrienne's POV*

The way Sasha sounded…  _ 'How 'bout that, Daryl? They're gonna be comin' our way.' _ He must have turned around, headed back towards home like he'd wanted to. Damn it. He's so damn stubborn. I just hope like hell he turns back before it's too late. Before Daryl or Rick or anyone else can say anything more, something in the rearview catches my eye. Movement. Someone's out there.

"Rick!" I hiss.

Not a fraction of a second later, some guy bursts into the RV, spraying bullets. Rick and I duck, then lunge at our attacker. No, fuck. Attackers. Two men.

"Rick!" Daryl barks, alarmed. "Adrienne!"

Christ. He's gonna have to just hold on a minute. These guys aren't adept fighters, and they only have the one gun. The only thing on their side had been the element of surprise, and that's not enough.

"Rick!" Daryl's voice again, becoming more agitated. "Adie!"

I hate that he's worried. He can't be worried. For the love of god, he has to keep his head fucking  _ level _ and turn back around. One of the men wraps his arms around me, slamming my body into the wall of the RV. Christ, that shit hurt. I elbow him, connecting solidly with his nose, and hurl myself backward against him once, twice, three times, knocking him into the wall on the other side. The man's grip around me loosens just enough.

"Hit the floor!" Rick roars, and I drop instantly.

He fires two rounds, taking out both men before helping me up.

"You all right?"

"Fine," I wave him off, searching the body nearest me while Rick searches the other.

I find nothing useful on the guy, although both men have  _ 'W' _ shaped scars on their foreheads. Jesus, who the hell are these people? I turn to Rick, who is staring at a small glass jar he's just pulled from the other man's pocket. Baby food. We just killed someone's father. Left a baby without a provider, for all we know. Before I can bring myself to feel too bad about that, Rick spots more movement in the mirrors. Several more scumbags sneaking along the driver's side of the RV. Rick holds a finger to his lips, lifting the rifle our dead friends had attempted to use on us.

I clap my hands over my ears just as he unloads on the people outside, spraying bullets through the side of the RV. When the gunfire ceases, I scramble into the front seat. Rick takes the wheel this time, eyeing the bodies of our would-be attackers slumped against the RV outside. I feel no sympathy. No guilt. I hope Rick doesn't, either. He attempts to start the engine, but it just sputters and dies, the universe stubbornly refusing us even this smallest of mercies.

"God damn it!" I roar, losing my shit almost completely.

I clench my fists and hurl them forward, pummeling the dashboard in front of me, taking out all my rage, frustration, the all consuming  _ fear… _ I don't feel the pain.

"Adie!" Rick snarls. "Adrienne! Stop!"

He grabs my shoulders, shaking me slightly. I lift my hands, staring unblinkingly at my blood slicked knuckles, at the broken blood vessels, bruises already blooming on my pale skin.

"You good?" He demands. "Are you good?!"

"Yeah," I sigh. "Yeah, I'm good."

He tries the engine one more time, but still it doesn't start. As if this shit isn't already troublesome enough, the herd has caught up with us. We're fucked. Absolutely fucking  _ fucked. _ Rick eyes me, the horror I feel in my bones reflected in his face. What the fuck are we gonna do?

"Run," he breathes.

And so we do. Because that's what we always do. We run. We're a good five or ten miles from home, both exhausted already, the air turning to shattered glass in our lungs, legs on fire as we fly towards Alexandria. But the herd is on us, right on our tail, and instinct takes over. Our will to survive, to get home and warn them… we don't feel the pain.

-

By the time the walls of Alexandria come into view and we're both screaming, hoping anybody,  _ anybody _ at all, can hear us. That the gate will miraculously fly open, that somehow we'll reach shelter in time to shut them out and  _ pray  _ the walls hold.

"Open the gate!" Rick roars. "Open the goddamn gate! Now!"

The gate flies open, Michonne and Maggie on the other side. I flip around, running backwards as I fire round after round into the closest walkers. They go down and that provides us enough leeway to slip inside, the gate slamming shut just before the walkers reach us. We made it. By the skin of our teeth, but we made it.

The Alexandrians are in shock, milling about, listening to the roar of the herd attempting to push through our walls. Maggie grabs hold of me before I can collapse, holding me steady as she and Michonne explain what happened here. A gang attacked, their foreheads adorned with that damn scar.  _ 'W' _ for Wolves. The noise, that terrible, blaring horn, had been a semi truck crashing into one of the wall panels. They handled it. And here we are in the wake of it all, leading fresh hell right to their doorstep.

Rick begins shouting orders, he and a couple others propping metal support beams against the damaged portion of the wall. I search the faces of the terrified townspeople. Glenn. Glenn's not here. Where the fuck is he? Michonne catches my eye, shaking her head. She doesn't know where he is. Glenn... I send up a silent prayer to anything listening that he's holed up somewhere safe.

"You can hear it," Rick announces. "Some of you saw it. They got back here, half of 'em. Still enough to surround us 20 deep. Look, I know you're scared. You haven't seen anything like this. You haven't been through anything like this. But we're safe for now. The panel the truck hit seems intact. We reinforced it just in case. Either way, the wall's gonna hold together. Can you?"

His eyes flicker around the group as he lets his question hang in the air.

"The others, they're gonna be back," Rick continues.

"They're gonna be back," Rosita echoes, trying to convince herself more than anyone else.

I catch her eyes and she nods. I know she gets what I'm feeling right now. She and Maggie both do. They don't know if their men are safe either. Woah. When did I start thinking of him as my  _ man? _ God, I need to get it the fuck together. Doesn't matter what I call him, he's mine and he'll come back to me. He always comes back. Always. And I can't consider the other possibility, not right now.

"Daryl, Abraham, Sasha, they have vehicles," Rick reminds us, his gaze seeming to linger on me a moment longer than necessary before moving on. "They're gonna lead 'em away, just like the others. And Glenn and Nicholas are gonna walk back through the front gate after."

At the mention of Glenn's name, Maggie snatches my hand. She clings to me, and I squeeze her hand gently. I know.

"They know what they're doin'," Rick assures us. "And we know what we need to do. We keep noise to a minimum. Pull our blinds at night. Even better, keep the lights out. We'll try to make this place as quiet as a graveyard, see if they move on."

"This place  _ is _ a graveyard," Francine snaps, casting an accusatory glance at Rick.

It's silent for a few moments. No one can argue with her, but it's not Rick's fault. It's not anyone's fault, it's just the way it is now. The whole world's a graveyard anymore.

"The quarry broke open and those walkers were heading this way," Aaron says heavily. " _ All of them.  _ The plan that Rick put into place stopped that from happening. He got half of them away."

"Any more than that had come here, they'd have flattened that wall by now," I point out.

"I was out there recruiting with Daryl," Aaron continues. "I wanted to try to get into a cannery and scavenge, and Daryl wanted to keep looking for people. We did what I wanted… and we wound up in a trap set by those people. And I lost my pack. They must've followed our tracks. Those people who attacked us… they found their way back here because of me."

The group falls silent at his admission. He dropped his pack… those shitty polaroids, they must've been in it. He slipped up, and now he's blaming himself for the deaths that occurred here because of a bunch of flesh munching, culty scumbags.

"No," I blurt. "Those people got in because they're predators. If it wasn't them now, it would've been another group just like 'em eventually. Because we're here."

Aaron offers me a hesitant smile, and I know he doesn't quite believe me 'cause it doesn't reach his eyes.

"There'll be more to talk about," Rick says finally.

"Deanna?" Tobin questions, watching in confusion as the woman who built this community walks away. "Deanna?"

She's given up. She's given up and her people need her now more than they ever did. I make to follow her, but Maggie stops me.

"I need to speak with you," she mutters urgently, dragging me towards Carol's place.

She pulls me into the small space between the two houses our family have been staying in, glancing around suspiciously, wary eyes searching for anyone who may have followed. She crosses her arms, seemingly satisfied that we're alone but still avoiding my gaze.

"Maggie?" I question, willing her to look at me. "Maggie, what's wrong?"

She appears to collapse in on herself, her face suddenly awash with tears, her body shaking with sobs.

"Maggie," I breathe, alarmed.

I pull her into me, wrapping her in my arms while she cries into my neck, wetting my hair with her tears. I cradle her close to me, just holding her while she lets it out. Eventually she quiets, her ragged, shaky breaths evening.

"I'm pregnant," she whispers, face still buried in the crook of my neck, her voice hoarse and cracking.

Holy shit.

Her tears start again, and I desperately want to comfort her but I don't have the words. I can't tell her he'll be back, that everything will be okay, not with any certainty. Instead, I sink to the ground with her and we cry together. Eventually she pulls away, picking herself up and dusting herself off, because that's what we do. We keep going. We  _ survive, _ no matter what. Giving up, crying… we don't get to do that. We just don't. I give her one more hug, pressing a kiss to her tear stained cheek before we part ways, she to find Deanna and I to the nearest watch post. 

"Daryl?" I murmur into my radio. "Sasha? Abe? You copy?"

I try again. And again. And again. After several attempts met with nothing but the cruel static laughter of the walkie, mocking me for being foolish enough to hope for a reply, I give up, clipping the radio back to my belt. Eventually, I don't even know how long it's been, Rick joins me. He gazes down at the vast expanse of writhing corpses trying like hell to force their way through the wall.

"He'll be back," he blurts. "They're all gonna be back. Daryl's-"

"Rick, don't," I murmur, locking eyes with him. "Please."

He nods, understanding. He gets it. It's in his nature to comfort, and he means well, but nothing he says can change reality. What has happened, is happening, or will happen… things don't change because we want them to. I won't be able to breathe fully until I hear the roar of Daryl's bike, a sound that, until now, I hadn't realized has become the most soothing sound in the entire fucking cosmos to me.

"Carol wants you to come eat," Rick informs me, his tone telling me he doesn't believe for a second I'll leave this post for something as trivial as nutrition.

"I'll eat later."

He claps a hand on my shoulder and nods before climbing back down to the ground, leaving me to my thoughts. I'm alone again. Not for long, though.

"Rick says you won't eat," Carol huffs in annoyance, ascending the ladder to the watchpost, one hand clinging to the rungs, the other to a bowl filled with what smells like tuna noodle casserole.

"I didn't say I  _ wouldn't _ eat," I point out, taking her hand in mine and helping her onto the platform. "I said I'd eat later."

"I know you, Adie," she reminds me, placing the bowl into my hands. "Later means never. You need your strength. Stay out here all night if you need to, but for god's sake, eat."

I pluck a noodle from the bowl and pop it into my mouth, chewing pointedly in her direction.

"I'm not leavin' without my bowl," she says, settling cross-legged onto the platform. "Eat up."

I'd underestimated both my hunger and Carol's inexplicable ability to make the blandest of ingredients taste gourmet. I sink down beside her and practically inhale the entire bowl within five minutes. She watches me, eyes dancing with amusement.

"What's funny?" I question, squinting at her as I lick my fingers clean.

"Daryl never bothers with a fork, either," she chuckles, holding up the fork she'd brought with her, and which I hadn't noticed, then turns thoughtful. "I read this book once, before, when I was with Ed... one of those self help ones, how to keep the spark alive after marriage. Of course, it was a load of shit, a last ditch effort to convince myself if I just  _ changed, _ things would be okay one day, but um, but something that stuck with me… longtime couples eventually start to subconsciously mimic each other."

"I'm not sure what constitutes a longtime couple, Carol, but I'm pretty sure it's more than a few days," I snort, swiping my finger along the inside of the bowl to catch any sauce that may be left. "Besides that, I don't know that we're callin' ourselves a couple."

"The fact that you two are a couple doesn't change just because you're both too damn stubborn to call a spade a spade," she scoffs, her eyes suddenly somewhere far away. "You know when I knew? Back at the CDC, remember, we had to blow up the window with that grenade to get out."

"I remember," I mutter. "Doctor Kevorkian, doin' us all a favor. He barely spoke to me back then, what do you mean that's when you knew?"

"Soon as Rick pulled that pin, Daryl practically  _ flew _ to get to you in time to shield you from the explosion," she says, smiling softly. "He was nowhere near you and I saw his face, Adie. He was terrified. That man has loved you longer than either of you realize."

I do remember. I remember the heat of his body on mine, thinking it was Rick or T or maybe even Shane until Daryl's voice was in my ear, his chest still pressed to my back. I had thought about that singular moment in time for weeks after we'd left the CDC.

"You know, it's kinda fucked up you even noticed that, considerin' we were within seconds of bein' ashes," I point out, flushing.

"I'm  _ very _ observant," she says slyly, chuckling at my bashfulness.

"Carol, I…" I sigh. "I don't know what to do if he… if he doesn't come back, I just-"

"You do what you have to," she cuts me off matter of factly. "You… you figure out how to keep going, you keep surviving, because... because that's what he'd want. He'd want you to live, no matter what."

I'm taken slightly aback by her bluntness. She's nothing if not brutally, painfully honest. I nod, offering the now empty bowl to her. She takes it, squeezing my hand and disappearing back down the ladder and into her house. I sit and wait. Watch. Listen to the restless dead, a feverish chorus as the setting sun is swallowed by the deep indigo of night.

Surely… surely if Glenn or Nicholas, or Sasha, Abraham… or Daryl… surely if any of them were alive, they'd be back by now, right? Where the hell are they?


	67. He Always Comes Back

**Chapter 67**

*Daryl's POV*

I never heard back from Rick or Adrienne. The radio has been static all afternoon, the only voices communicating over the waves belonging to Sasha, Abraham, and me. I just gotta hope whatever the hell's going on, they're back home. Safe. Alive.

"All right," Sasha's voice snaps me out of my worries.

"That's 20?" I question hopefully, finally seeing the light at the end of this godforsaken tunnel.

"It will be," Sasha replies. "642 is a mile ahead. We gotta put distance between us and them before the turnoff."

"So floor it," Abraham instructs, and I'm more than ready to comply.

"All right, try to keep up," I order, steadily increasing my speed.

"Daryl, have you  _ looked _ at this car?" Sasha snorts derisively over the radio. "Believe me, we wanna get back there, too."

Yeah, I guess the car's a bit of a junker, but it don't matter. Give anything enough gas, it'll move. We've turned into a small, abandoned residential. The plan is to weave through these streets, put some distance between us and the herd, then work our way back to one of the main roads and hightail it home. Just when fuckin' I think things are starting to look up, gunfire erupts behind us. Craning my neck, I can see at least two cars behind Sasha and Abraham, several douchebags with guns hanging out the windows, firing on us.

I lean sideways, rolling from the bike. Should give Sasha and Abraham a minute or two to gain some distance on these assholes. By the time I'm back up and riding, though, I've ended up separated from them, a third car I hadn't seen before on my tail. I'm on my own and so are they. I speed up, disappearing into the woods on a tiny dirt path I know the car behind me won't be able to navigate. If I can lose the jackasses back there, I can work my way back to my people.

Once I'm satisfied I've lost 'em, I bring my bike to a stop and collapse to the ground. That tumble on the asphalt tore up my arm something fierce. Also, if the slow trickle of blood seeping from my temple is any indication, I'd taken a pretty decent blow to the head.

Shit. 

Ain't like I can stay here in the fuckin' dirt forever, though. So I pull myself together, getting to my feet and pushing the bike along, further into the forest. These woods have been scorched, and recently, burnt walkers half melted into the dirt beneath the smoldering ruins of blackened, skeletal trees. It's not until I'm struggling to move the bike over a dip in the ground that I remember the walkie. Must've hit my head harder than I thought.

"Sasha?" I murmur into the radio. "Abraham, you there?"

Static. Guess it was a longshot. Shit don't ever go smooth out here. Ever. I'm gonna have to leave the bike, it's too loud and I ain't trying to die today. I unclip my pack, preparing to leave. Then I hear a branch snap somewhere close. Fuck. I pull some foliage over the bike, foolishly hoping I'll be able to come back for it later, and sling my pack over my shoulder. I lift the crossbow, staring warily into the trees.

I inch my way forward, moving in the direction the noise had come from. I whip around a tree and find myself staring down at two young girls, brunette and strawberry blonde. Maybe not super young, but early 20's at most.

"You found us, 'kay?" The one with dark hair says, both of them standing with their hands in the air. "Here we are. We  _ earned _ what we took."

Before I can ask what the hell this girl's talking about, someone else approaches from behind. I have time to vaguely register a thin, lanky blond guy before something hard hits my head and suddenly it's naptime. I fade in and out of consciousness through the night, catching muddled snippets of conversation. I don't fully surface until dawn. My hands are bound and my entire body aches like a motherfucker.

"Get up," the blond asshole who knocked me out orders. "Hey! Get up."

I don't know this jackass, and I sure as hell ain't gonna take orders from him. My head is clear enough now I can remember the gist of their conversation last night. They're on the run from somebody, think I'm here to collect 'em or some shit.

"We're movin'," he announces, waving a gun in my face. "Here's the deal. You don't say shit and I don't kill you."

"I ain't who you think."

"Say somethin' else," he dares me, cocking his weapon. "Go ahead."

These people ain't running from me. There's a way outta this, there's gotta be. So I keep my mouth shut. This douchebag will kill me, and as much as I don't like taking orders from him… I need to get back to my people. The voice in my head that sounds a lot like Rick urges me to just listen. Swallow my pride. Get outta this. So I do. I get to my feet, stumbling as the man pushes me forward.

"Follow them," he commands.

We're off, traveling in the exact fucking opposite direction I need to be going. The three of them talk amongst themselves while we shamble through the woods, and I listen, hoping for any information I can use. Who they are, where they came from, who the fuck they're running from.

"Drink this," the dark haired girl says eventually, thrusting a bottle of water at me.

I just glare at it. I ain't taking their shit. Hell no. The man snatches the bottle from the brunette, holding it out in front of me.

"We don't need you fallin' down," he points out. "Drink."

God damn it. He's right. I pass out from dehydration, I'm as good as dead. I take the bottle, the relief instantaneous as the water hits my dry throat.

"They find us, maybe we give you to 'em, they let us call it even," he muses. "You see, we're reasonable people. Everybody's got their code. You feel you gotta kneel, that's fair enough. We don't. Let's go."

"I can't believe we're back," the dark haired girl says as we keep walking.

What, they used to live here or something?

"It's not home anymore," she continues. "But it's better than where we were."

"This is a pit stop," the man says firmly. "We pick up Patty, nothin' more than that."

"How'd you do it?" The blonde girl asks, eyeing the smoldering trees.

"You saw where we left the truck?" The man questions.

"Mhmm."

"We opened the valve and drove all the way in from Farmview Road," he informs her. "Ran from the treeline 'til we got to the pavement. Lit up a matchbook from Sweetwater and dropped it on the trail. Then we just ran for the car. Got in and the dead ones were there. They were beatin' on the hood and then... and then  _ boom. _ Knocked 'em on their asses and I took an axe to each one."

"Then we just watched it go up," the dark haired girl finishes. "No more moans, no more of that wailing. It was just the fire, just burnin' 'em all away."

"You did all this?" I question.

"It was right at the start," she confirms. "Everything stopped. The TV, the radio. We were here. The forest was full of 'em. And the other ones in town, they were drawn to it, they just walked right into the flames. We got most of 'em. Thought we ended it for us, and she was in DC," she indicates the blonde beside her. "We thought everyone was fighting them wherever they were."

"Yeah, we thought that's what everybody was doin'," the man says bitterly. "Fightin' it. That we'd all win together," he lets go of me, evidently trusting I ain't gonna run off without my shit. He's right. "We were stupid."

"Y'all don't think you're bein' stupid right now?" I question, stopping in my tracks.

"Are you sayin' I should kill you?" The man demands, whirling around and pointing his gun right between my eyes. "I mean it, are you gonna try and pull somethin' on us? Are we just bein' thick here by not removin' all doubt? Right now, by me not pullin' this trigger, is that a mistake? I'm serious. I really wanna know. You made the choice to kill for someone else, have them own you for a roof over your head and three squares, so maybe I'm not considerin' all aspects here. You tell me, am I bein'  _ stupid? _ "

Jesus, who the fuck does this dumbass think I am? Fuck it, I can work with this. Cash in on their fear.

"No," I mutter. "Look, I got somewhere to be. We can make a deal. I can help you out."

"You're one of them," the man insists, eyeing me distrustfully. "You're hurt and you're alone and you'd say anything. We should've never trusted you people to begin with. Go on. Keep moving."

After the failed attempt to negotiate for my freedom, I keep my mouth shut. They think I'm with whoever they're running from. I still ain't sure if that's a good thing or not, so I don't bother trying to correct 'em. I just wait, bide my time until I get the chance to run for it. The opportunity comes when the blonde girl collapses, passing out, maybe from heat or dehydration, but I don't care. I don't give a shit about these people, so I grab the bag in which they'd stowed my crossbow and take off while they're distracted.

Once I feel I've made it far enough they won't catch me, I hurl myself to the ground, yank the rope off my wrists, and grab the walkie I'd somehow managed to hold on to through all this bullshit.

"Sasha, Abraham, you there?" I question desperately, again receiving nothing but static.

God damn it, and now there's a walker stumbling its way over here, just in case things weren't shitty enough already. I open the bag, clawing frantically at my crossbow. But it's stuck, caught on something inside the bag. The walker draws nearer, and just when I think I should abandon the crossbow and take it down another way, I manage to wriggle it free. The dead fucker goes down and I can breathe again.

Then I spot the other contents of the bag I'd stolen. Insulin. An entire cooler of it. That's why that girl collapsed back there, she's sick. Christ. I need to go back, just long enough to return the medicine. Then I'm getting the fuck back home. No more goddamned detours. I make my way back to my trio of thieving captors. They're just sitting there defeatedly. I almost feel bad. Almost.

"Drop the gun," I order, stepping out of the trees with my crossbow raised. "Drop it!"

The man does as he's told, and I approach him slowly, crossbow still ready to fire if needed.

"Give it to me," I reach for the weapon, and he hands it over without a fight. "I came all this way. What you got for the duffel? You put me through too much shit just to give it back. Principle of the thing."

Oh, Christ. I sound like Merle. Like our ol' man. I hate myself for it, but I can't let it go.

"What you got besides this gun?" I demand.

"Nothin'," the man says quietly.

"What was that thing you were carvin'?" I question, knowing it's ridiculous.

Still, he reaches into his pocket, ready to cater to my ludicrous whims if it means they get the medicine.

"My grandfather taught me how-" he starts, but I ain't tryin' to swap stories.

"Don't care," I grunt, snatching the small wooden carving from his hand. "It'll do."

I don't even need this thing. Fuck. Whatever, they're getting their damn bag back. That's a hell of a lot more than they deserve, knocking me out and tying me up like that.

"Take it," I tell them, tossing the duffel to the ground. "It's all there. Good luck. You're gon' need it."

I head back into the woods, ready to haul ass the fuck home, but but before I've made it even three feet a truck pulls up. A fucking  _ truck, _ flattening the overgrowth in its path. The doors open, three armed men stepping out from the extended cab. There are several more men hiding in the trees, and still another in the truck.

Fuck. Fine. But this is bullshit.

"Hey!" I whisper as they tear into the woods, headed right for the hidden men. "That way. Come on. Go, go, go."

I'm gonna regret this. I help them find a spot they can hide, wait it out. But I'm done. It's time to get the fuck back home. I can't leave 'em totally defenseless, though. I'll stay. Just until the dicks from the truck leave.

"Hey," I nudge the man, holding out the gun for him. "Take it.

We ain't waiting too long before one of the assholes gets himself bit. They take his arm off and decide to head back wherever it is they call home.

"We thought you were with them!" The man hisses. "We knock you over the head, tie you up, threaten to kill you… why the hell did you come back?"

"Maybe I'm stupid, too," I mutter.

-

We're walking again, and now I know their names. Dwight, and the two girls are Sherry and Tina. Sherry, the brunette, is Dwight's wife, and Tina's her sister. I'm thinking they might be potential recruits for Alexandria. We'll see. It was smart, how they took out these walkers, but… I dunno if I can trust 'em yet.

"So you knew 'em and still thought I was one of 'em?" I question, eyeing Dwight.

"Where we were… we were there since the beginning," he tells me. "We still didn't know everyone. Back when we first threw in with 'em, it was as good a place as any. Then things got harder, people got harder. Human nature kicked in and it became a… truly unique kind of shitshow."

"People will trade anything for safety," Sherry announces. "For knowin' that they're safe."

"Everything," Dwight amends. "So they got nothin' left except just… existing."

"Hey, nobody's safe anymore," I point out. "Can't promise people that anyhow."

"You could promise the people who wanna hear it," Dwight counters, stopping short as Tina inexplicably breaks into a sprint. "Hey, Tina, hold up!"

She stops in front of the metal framework of what used to be a greenhouse, now just smoldering ruins.

"Carla and Delly," she murmurs, eyeing the charred remains of two people. "That's them."

She moves to place some flowers on the bodies, to pay her respects. Then one of the corpses moves, biting into her neck before anyone has a chance to react. I sprint forward, plunging my knife into the writhing walker. It's too late, though. Tina's gone.

-

"Hey," I blurt, getting Dwight's attention as the two of us dig graves for Tina and the couple they'd known. "How many walkers you killed?"

He gives me an incredulous look, probably wondering why the hell I'm asking him seemingly ridiculous questions at a time like this. But I need to know.

"Just answer the question."

"A lot," he shrugs. "Couple dozen, at least."

"How many people you killed?"

"None," he nods, getting back to his shoveling.

"Why?"

"Why haven't I killed anybody?" He grunts. "Because if I did, there'd be no goin' back. There'd be no goin' back to how things were."

He's right. I see it in Rick, in Carol… even in Adie. She says she don't feel guilty. See the threat, eliminate the threat, but I know she still thinks about her dad. What she did to him. That eye patch she keeps in her pocket so she never forgets. The things we've done, the people we've killed, no matter how justified, haunt us.

"I'm from a place where people are still like they were… more or less, better or worse," I tell him.

He eyes his grieving wife, letting the offer hang in the air while we continue to dig. Three plots, three bodies. Once they've been buried, we head back to where I'd hidden my bike what feels like an eternity ago.

"I can walk it from here," I announce, pulling the shrubbery off the bike. "Til we meet up with my friends. They got a car, you can ride with 'em."

"How many friends you say there were?" Dwight questions.

"I didn't," I tell him, still cleaning up my bike. "There's two of 'em."

"Where are they?"

"We're gon' find out."

"How do you know they even got away?" He demands. "That they didn't get taken?"

"I don't," I fire back, wheeling my bike back towards the road.

It's silent for a moment, then I hear the unmistakable sound of a gun cocking.

"Oh, damn it," I sigh, dropping the bike to the ground.

"I'm sorry," Dwight says, aiming his gun at my head. "Give her the crossbow."

Unbelievable.

"You gon' go back?" I question pointedly. "You gon' be  _ safe _ ?"

"Shut up," he snarls.

"Ain't nowhere safe no more," I point out. 

"Give her the crossbow," he repeats.

"You gon' kneel?" I press, but he's done playing games.

He fires a round into the woods behind me, and I have to call it. I pull my crossbow from my shoulder and hand it to Sherry. She takes the gun from Dwight, keeping it on me while he grabs my bike. He mounts it and revs the engine. I wanna kill him. Should've left him to rot. Sherry climbs onto my bike behind him, tossing some bandages to me as they leave.

"Patch yourself up," she says softly. "We're sorry."

"You're gonna be," I promise them, seething.

They take off, leaving me with nothing but my knife and that piece of shit wooden carving of a hideous little man. I make my way through the woods, the trees thinning as I get closer to the road. Eventually, I come across a tanker truck, the name of some electric company painted on the side. Finally something goes right. The truck starts right up and I'm able to track down Sasha and Abraham, holed up in an insurance office in town. They're both alive, hardly even a scratch on either of 'em. We're goin' home. With Cuban cigars and a fucking Javelin missile. Abe and Sasha had a much better time on this trip than I did.

"Man, if we'd had to call it, go home without you…" Abraham chuckles. "Think Adie'd beat both our asses. Hell, she'd beat everybody's asses. You're in for the lay of your life when we-"

"Abraham," Sasha interrupts, presumably noticing my discomfort at the phrase  _ 'lay of your life'. _ "Shut the hell up."

Still, I ain't gonna lie… I got every intention of getting Adie back in that bed as soon as fucking possible.

"Rick, you copy?" I mutter into the walkie, ignoring them both. "Adie? Anybody?"

Just static. I try not to think about the knot in my gut. Try to just focus on the road. We're on our way. Then the radio crackles, a voice on the other end. It's garbled, just in and out nonsense, but it's a person. It's a hell of a lot more than static. I feel better already.

"Say it again?" I request, this time the reply coming in loud and clear.

"Help."

Is that… Eugene?

*Adrienne's POV*

Night came and went. Nothing changed. No one's back. Our people are still out there. At some point before the sun rose, Maggie joined me on the watchpost. We didn't talk. Just stood side by side, waiting alone together. The sun is long risen now, and Rick is climbing up the ladder. I hope he hasn't deluded himself into believing that anything he says will get me off this platform.

"You don't have to be up here so much," he says gently, glancing between the two of us. "Either of you."

"I won't be," Maggie tells him, squinting off into the distance.

I don't bother with a response, scanning the horizon with tired eyes, searching desperately for… I don't even know. Anything.

"This is the direction he'd come in," Maggie says, nodding to herself. "If he sends up a signal, it'll be from out there."

"Yeah," Rick sighs softly.

"Or it… it won't be," Maggie admits.

I glance over at her. She's trying to hold it together, but she's terrified. I take her hand in mine, and we cling to each other. I can't bring myself to say anything, but I'm hoping she feels some comfort from the contact. I do.

"When we go out there, it's never easy," Rick says heavily, eyes flickering between us. "It's never simple. It's always a fight. But we've come back from harder things. From further away. Glenn, Daryl, Abraham, and Sasha, they will, too."

Something boils over inside me. Maybe it's the lack of sleep. Maybe it's my sore, aching body. Maybe it's my patience, run down to absolutely nothing, or the fear that Daryl might not come back, that I'll never see him again. The very real possibility that if he  _ is _ gone, I'll never know for sure. I'll never know. I break, dropping to my knees on the rickety platform and sobbing. Rick crouches down beside me, pulling me into his chest. He doesn't say anything, just lets me cry for a few minutes. I feel so weak, so incredibly powerless. I hate that. Eventually my tears dry, and Rick helps me to my feet.

"God," I sniff, angrily wiping my tears away. "I'm just so damn tired of not knowin'. This, this, this  _ waitin'. _ I need to do somethin'."

"So maybe we don't wait for them to be back," Rick suggests. "We should start figuring out how to draw the walkers away. We have some food and water to last us a while and the walls are holdin'. We can take our time. Really think this through, do it  _ right. _ Clear it so they can, they can walk right in."

I glare bitterly down at the roving assholes forming a perma-shell around our wall. If they come back, they're gonna need to be able to get in. So how…

"I saw Judith in the house the other day," Maggie says abruptly. "She's startin' to… she's startin' to look like Lori."

"Yeah," Rick agrees quietly.

"Made me happy," Maggie murmurs.

"Me, too," Rick nods, smiling sadly.

He leaves us, evidently not wanting to discuss his dead wife. Fair enough. Climbing up the ladder within seconds of Rick's departure is Carol.

"Morning, Maggie," she says warmly, then turns her gaze to me. "Adie, you need to come with me. Now."

"I'll come down when-"

"Now," she crosses her arms, staring me down.

"For what?" I demand.

"Rick told us about the men at the RV. With the  _ 'W' _ s. The same people who attacked us."

"So?"

"So Morgan wouldn't kill them. We need to talk to him."

Morgan wouldn't kill… but they were attacking this place. They were  _ killing _ our people. Why wouldn't he kill them to protect ours? Christ. I follow Carol down the ladder and into Rick's kitchen, where he's just sitting down to the table with Morgan and Michonne.

"What's goin' on?" Morgan questions, eyes flickering from face to face quizzically.

"When we were comin' back…" Rick starts. "We tried to cut off the herd with the RV. Lead the walkers away. But five of those people with the  _ 'W' _ s in their foreheads, they stopped us. They tried to kill us, shot up the RV. Now, Carol says she saw you. That you wouldn't kill those people."

"Did you let any of 'em go?" Carol asks.

"Yes, I did," Morgan says firmly. "I didn't wanna kill five people I didn't have to kill."

"They burned people alive!" Carol snaps.

"Yeah," Morgan nods. "Why didn't  _ you _ kill  _ me, _ Rick? Back in King County? Pulled a knife on you. I stabbed you. So why didn't you kill me? Was it 'cause I saved you after the hospital?"

"'Cause I knew who you were," Rick points out.

"Back there I would've killed you soon as look at you. And I tried. But you… you let me live and then I was there to help Aaron and Daryl. See, if I, if I wasn't there… if they died, maybe those wolves wouldn't've been able to come back here."

"No, if you weren't there, they'd've gotten out," I snap. "They'd've come back, he _always_ comes back," my voice cracks and I take a moment to compose myself, ignoring the concerned eyes lingering on my face. "Those people had pictures of this place, the ones from Aaron's pack. They'd've come no matter what, but if _you_ hadn't been _here,_ maybe... maybe they wouldn't've gotten out, stopped me and Rick 'cause _you_ let 'em go. Maybe that herd wouldn't be right outside our gates! _Maybe_ -"

"Adrienne!" Michonne snaps. "Enough.

I sink into the chair beside her, silent and glowering. He shouldn't've let 'em go.

"I don't know what's right anymore," Morgan murmurs. "'Cause I  _ did  _ wanna kill those men. I seen what they did, what they would've keep doin'. I knew I could end it. But I also know that people can change. 'Cause everyone sittin' here has."

I blink, taken aback. I don't want him to be right. Maybe he's not all wrong, though. We have changed. We had to, we never would've made it on the road after the farm, after the prison, after Beth... we're killers because we have to be. Rick didn't kill Morgan on that run in King County 'cause he didn't have to. Those wolves… we  _ did _ have to kill them. People only change when they have to.

"All life is precious," Morgan continues. "And that idea… that idea changed me. It brought me back and it keeps me livin'."

"I just don't think it can be that easy," Michonne says.

"It's not easy," Morgan counters.

"I wasn't saying that-"

"I, I know," Morgan cuts her off. "And I've thought about lettin' that idea go. But I don't want to."

"No one  _ wants  _ to," I hiss.

"You may have to," Michonne adds, casting me a warning glance. "Things aren't as simple as four words. I don't think they ever were."

"Do you think I don't belong here?" Morgan questions.

He's asking Michonne, but he's looking at me. It's not my call, but… I wouldn't kick him out. He saved Rick. He saved Rick and he saved Aaron and Daryl and he didn't have to. But letting those wolves just walk out, knowing what they were… I can't abide that. I just can't.

"Making it now," Rick says. "Do you really think you can do that without gettin' blood on your hands?"

"I don't know," Morgan shakes his head. 

"You can't," I say flatly.

"Adie, can I speak with you?" 

Carol doesn't wait for a reply, grabbing me by the elbow, pulling me from my seat, and leading me from the room.

"You need to sleep," she informs me, dragging me out the door and across the lawn to her house.

"No, I need to  _ help, _ " I insist, yanking my arm from her grip. "I'll sleep when he's-"

"If you push yourself, you keep goin' like this, you're gonna get yourself killed. Then you'll be no help to anybody."

Her words are like a slap to the face. Atlanta Carol was never this outspoken. Her face softens slightly and she touches my arm.

"Hey," she murmurs. "I promise if he comes back while you're sleeping, I'll wake you up. You're hurt and exhausted. Come on. Just an hour or two."

"One hour," I concede.

She nods, taking me by the arm and leading me to the bedroom I'd shared with Daryl for just one night and had already begun to think of as ours. Second floor of the house, last door on the right. Carol had clearly planned on getting me back here eventually, if the glass of water and Advil tablets on the dresser are any indication.

"One hour," I remind her.

She just nods, watching me pop the pills into my mouth and gulp them down. I hadn't realized how thirsty I was until the water touched my lips. I drain the entire glass, then collapse heavily onto the bed. Satisfied, Carol takes the empty glass and turns to leave.

"Carol?"

She glances over at me questioningly, already halfway out the door.

"Thank you," I tell her earnestly, tears welling in my eyes despite myself.

She nods, a sad smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Then she's gone, shutting the door behind her. I settle into the bed, grabbing the pillow that still smells vaguely like Daryl. I hug it close to my body, inhaling his scent.

-

I wake with a start. Christ, I don't even remember falling asleep. I snap upright in the bed. Gunfire. There's gunfire! I hurl myself from the bed, flying down the stairs and out the door. I spot Rick, he's trying to pull something over the wall. Tara is firing into the walkers, hanging outside the wall. They're back! I tear across the street and up the ladder to the platform Rick is standing on.

Fuck.

It's just Spencer Monroe, dangling from the rope Rick is desperately clinging to. What the hell happened? I snatch up the slack end of the rope and tug, Morgan and Tobin showing up to assist as well. We pull Spencer onto the platform, missing one of his shoes but otherwise unharmed.

"Tara!" Rick snarls as Michonne helps her back over the wall, back to safety. "You almost died once for these people!"

"What?!" Tara snaps.

"What the hell were you doin'?" Rick demands.

Tara's response is simply to flip him the bird. I turn my attention to Spencer.

"Lost a damn shoe," he says breathlessly. "Crap."

"You're damn lucky it wasn't a leg," I hiss. "Or your  _ life. _ "

"What was that?" Rick questions, barely containing his rage.

"I was trying to help!" Spencer cries defensively. "I wanted to get to a car, draw them away."

"You ever make a climb like that before?" Rick demands, crouching down in front of him. "You wanna help? Don't make us come runnin' to save you. You got an idea, you come to me."

"Would you have listened to me?" Spencer questions pointedly.

"You could've  _ died _ tryin' to be the hero," I snap, slipping past the men on the overcrowded platform and stomping down the ladder.

I angrily stalk my way over to the watchpost Maggie's still manning. I climb up the ladder and by the time I get to her I'm choking back tears  _ again. _ She pulls me into her arms, shushing me and smoothing my hair.

"When I… when I heard the shots I, I… I thought they were back, I thought  _ he _ was back…" I trail off and she squeezes me tighter. "I don't know what I'm gonna do."

"I know," she murmurs, rubbing circles into my back with her thumbs.

"You're gonna be the best mom." I blurt, sputtering through my tears.

She chuckles quietly and I don't know what comes over the two of us in this moment, but suddenly we're both giggling. Laughing hysterically while fat tears roll down our cheeks. It's ridiculous, absolute lunacy. I think we just need the release, need the rush of endorphins.

"Shit," Maggie curses breathlessly, both of us sobering. "Would you look at us?"

I snort, wiping my tears away. Unfortunately, the snort sends an alarming amount of mucus flying from my nostrils. Maggie stares at me, startled, while I wipe my nose on the inside of my shirt. We make eye contact. Then we're doubled over, cackling maniacally.

When we finally settle, catching our breath, hiccups bubbling up from our throats, I feel ten tons lighter. We turn our gazes back to the horizon, watching in companionable silence. Then I spot something in the distance. Squinting, I can just barely make out what it is.

"Maggie, look!" I point in the direction of what must be Glenn's signal. "By the water tower."

A bunch of balloons, like we'd used to mark the green stage of the quarry walker removal, rising steadily into the air. He's close. Glenn's alive. We exchange a glance, then tear down the ladder and sprint towards where Rick and Deanna are standing. They've also seen the balloons, eyes to the sky.

"That's Glenn!" Maggie says breathlessly. "That's Glenn!"

Then, as if mother nature herself is restoring the balance of happiness to misery, the clocktower just outside our little town collapses, taking a portion of the wall with it.


	68. You Ain't Just Gon' Leave

**Chapter 68**

Christ. Is a single moment of peace too much to fucking ask? I don't have time to contemplate fairness right now, though. Walkers are streaming in through the breach in the wall.

"Everyone get back!" Rick orders. "Get into your houses, go!"

Chaos erupts. There are so many of them, I'm surrounded in no time at all. Panic takes hold only when I lose sight of Maggie. God damn it. I weave my way through the crowd of corpses, taking out only those that get too close.

"Maggie!" I scream. "Maggie!"

"Adie, behind you!" Carl shrieks from somewhere beyond my sight.

I whirl around, plunging my knife into the walker about to sink its teeth into my neck.

"Carl, get inside!" I roar, spotting him and Ron Anderson moving through the herd.

I hear Maggie, I can hear her screams. I whip around, desperately trying to find her. I finally spot her, scrambling up a ladder, trying to get to safety on the platform of one of the watch posts. She's surrounded, walkers mindlessly trying to shake the ladder down.

"Maggie!" I shriek, firing my last six rounds into the walkers at the ladder.

Somehow, despite fighting off my own attackers with one hand, I manage to take down the walkers nearest Maggie and she collapses onto the platform. She's safe up there. That's what I have to tell myself. She's gonna be okay.

"Adrienne!" Michonne yells, grabbing me by the arm and yanking me towards her.

Together, we fight our way through the walkers, reaching Rick, Deanna, Gabriel, Carl, and Ron in the middle of the street. We're surrounded, the walkers converging into a single entity around us.

"Rick!" Jessie screams from her lawn, firing several rounds into the walkers between us and her house. "Come on, I have Judith!"

Deanna's hurt. Bad. Michonne and I get her into one of the bedrooms upstairs and busy ourselves trying to stop the bleeding. Michonne ties a makeshift tourniquet around her leg while I attempt to staunch the blood flow from her side.

"How is she?" Rick questions, bounding into the room after making sure Carl and Judy are safe.

"No offense to these ladies, but whatever they're doing… hurts like a son of a bitch," Deanna says weakly.

I'd normally laugh at that, but I've just discovered the wound in her side didn't come from a saw like the wound on her leg.

"I just finished with the leg," Michonne says gently. "And that seems to be the worst of-"

She doesn't finish that thought, looking from the bite beneath my hands to my horror stricken face and back. Deanna's eyes well with tears as she takes in her wound.

"Well… shit," she mutters.

Shit indeed. I get to my feet, unable to watch yet  _ another _ person die. I can't. I can't do it. I know it's selfish, but I can't.

"Adrienne," Deanna's voice stops me in my tracks. "I owe you an apology."

"No," I breathe, turning to face the dying woman. "You don't owe me anything, ma'am. What you've done for-"

"Bullshit," she snorts. "I misjudged you. All of you at some point or another, but... I was hardest on you. I knew what Pete was. I thought I could… I thought I could ignore it. I never should have-"

"Ma'am, please," I tell her gently, taking her hand in mine.

"Deanna," she says insistently. "Just once, call me Deanna."

"Deanna," I murmur, tearing up. "What you've done for the people I care about the most in this world… I will never be able to repay you for that. You are the reason we're still standin'. You owe me  _ nothin'. _ Please. Rest now."

I squeeze her hand and she nods. I leave her with Michonne. They'd bonded in our time here, and Michonne needs the time to say goodbye. Just as I'm heading down the stairs, there's an ungodly racket coming from the garage. Things crashing to the ground, glass shattering, walkers snarling. I sprint to the door, meeting Rick there.

"Carl!" He shouts, discovering that the door is locked.

Carl and Ron are locked in the garage. Christ. Why the fuck? After screaming at the two boys to no avail, Rick takes a hatchet to the doorknob. The door swings open just in time, both boys tearing into the house before any harm can come to them.

Now we have a new problem, though. The door won't shut. I fling myself at the door, pressing my back flat against it, digging my heels into the carpet. Rick sprints over to the sofa in the living area, he and Gabriel dragging it towards us, wedging it into the door frame in an attempt to block the walkers in the garage from getting inside the house.

"This isn't gonna hold!" I hiss.

"We need more, and we need to be quiet," Rick grunts.

We leave Rick and Jessie to hold the door shut, the rest of us searching for anything we can pile in front of that door. Ron and Carl head upstairs, and something's not sitting right with me. The door was  _ locked. _ Those boys were fighting. They can deny it all they want, but I know. Carl spun some story about knocking over a shelf looking for tools, but it's a crock of shit.

I follow the two of them, bursting into the room just as Ron is handing Carl his gun. Carl's own weapon is trained on the other kid's head.

"You two wanna tell me what the hell's goin' on?" I demand.

Ron remains sullenly quiet, avoiding my gaze.

"Look, man," Carl says, tucking Ron's weapon into his waistband. "I get it. My dad killed your dad, but you need to know something. Your dad was an asshole."

"God damn it, Carl, what the hell happened down there?" I hiss.

"It was just a misunderstanding, Adie," Carl assures me. "Leave it alone."

"A misunderstandin'," I scoff. "Okay. Here's the deal. You two, you're not gonna be alone together again until we get shit sorted out there. We have enough  _ bullshit _ to worry about without you assholes tryin' to kill each other. Ron, go to your kitchen, get a knife. You can't be left with nothin'. Either of you step a  _ toe _ over the line again, I will tell  _ both _ your parents-"

"Adie, come on!" Carl protests, stricken.

"Try me," I snap, eyeing both teens. "I'm not bullshittin' you, this ends now. Grab those end tables and get your asses downstairs. Move."

We head back down the stairs, assembling an absurd conglomeration of miscellaneous household items in front of the door. Nothing's holding them. There's too many.

"Everybody upstairs, now!" Michonne orders.

She, Rick, and I take out the first wave of walkers that break through while everyone else clambers up the stairs.

"Rick, the couch!" I snarl, grabbing one side.

He grabs the other and we use it to block the stairs. It's a temporary solution, buying us a tiny amount of time and some cover from the snapping jaws. Rick eyes me and Michonne and we know what he's thinking before he says it. We need camouflage. We need bodies. The three of us take out a walker each, dragging the corpses upstairs past the horrified faces of all except Carl.

"You stay here," Rick orders his son. "You see anyone squeezin' through, you get me."

We drag the bodies into the bedroom at the top of the stairs.

"We're gonna need enough bedsheets for everyone," Rick announces.

"Bedsheets for what?" Jessie demands.

"We all go to the armory," Rick explains, pulling out his blade.

"How?" Jessie presses.

"We're gonna gut these things." Rick tells her. "Cover ourselves with the insides. It'll mask our smell, make 'em think we're like them."

"We'll be able to move through them undetected," I add, noting the look of confused horror on Jessie's face.

"I've done it before," Rick assures her. "We stay calm, we don't draw attention, like she said, we can move right through 'em."

"They're in the house," Michonne says bluntly. "They're making noise. More are coming."

Gabriel has returned with the sheets, and Rick, Michonne, and I waste no time in slicing the corpses open. We have to leave Deanna. We've left her with a gun, at her request. She wants to do it herself, but she's not ready yet. It's killing Michonne inside, I can tell. But this is how it is. This is our reality.

"Mom?" Sam's staring at us from the doorway, stricken, as we cover ourselves in congealed blood.

"You need to listen to me, okay?" Jessie murmurs, crouching before her terrified son. "We aren't safe here anymore. Okay, we need to do this so that we can be safe out there. We need to look like the monsters."

"No," Sam cries. "Please, no."

"Yes, honey, we have to go, okay? We have to, Sam. Honey, just… just pretend you're brave."

What the fuck? Jessie's parenting skills were questionable before, but now? Jesus. She's teaching her kid that he can't accept reality and function. What the hell's wrong with this fucking family?

"Okay?" Jessie continues. "Just make it all pretend. Okay? None of this is real and you're somebody who isn't afraid. Okay?"

"Okay," Sam nods, but he's falling apart.

Once we're all covered in guts, we're ready. Carl takes Judith, concealing her beneath his gore covered sheet. To my surprise, Sam reaches over and snatches my hand. He stares up at me, absolute terror in his eyes.

"Hey, bud," I murmur, crouching beside him. "I know it looks scary. I know you're afraid of 'em, and you  _ should _ be. They're scary. And we look pretty scary right now, too. But… but you can be scared and  _ still be brave, _ Sam. I'm scared, too. But I  _ know _ you can do this. We're a team, we're all doin' this together. You're kind of like a superhero, now, you know that? You're helpin' us fight the bad guys, helpin' us keep each other safe. And when this is all over, we're gonna find you a cooler costume, okay? One that doesn't smell or look scary."

He smiles up at me uncertainly, still terrified but seemingly less so. I hope it's enough. He squeezes my hand, then turns to his mother. She's staring at me like she's never seen me before, eyes welling with tears.

"Thank you," she mouths, and I nod.

I still hate her, but at the end of the day, she's on our side. She's fighting with us. That's what counts. Maybe with Pete dead, she'll come around. Carol did.

-

We're moving now, weaving slowly through the bodies. It's working, just like we knew it would. We can do this together. Only together. We all clasp hands, moving through the crowd, making our way to the armory. We're doing fine, until…

"Mom?" Sam whispers, petrified, barely audible over the growling corpses around us. "Mom?"

*Daryl's POV*

The voice was definitely Eugene's. Something's going down back home, and we ain't even halfway there yet. My stomach is in ropes and I got my foot heavy on the gas, pushing 80, but it ain't fast enough, it don't feel like we're moving fast enough. Sasha and Abraham are silent. We're all worried about what the hell we're going home to. We've just hit the halfway home mark when we're stopped in our tracks, several men on bikes blocking off the road.

"Daryl," Sasha murmurs.

"Yeah, I see," I sigh, slowing.

"What in the holy shit?" Abe demands.

I bring the tanker to a halt. Ain't much choice.

"Why don't you come on out, join us in the road?" The guy in front hollers, but it ain't a question. "You know, if you wanna resist, try something… I mean, it's a choice, I guess. But we will end your asses, split you right in two, straight through to the sinuses. So come on."

We ain't got another choice. These men are armed. Heavily. And there's more of 'em. The three of us climb out of the truck, assembling in front of it like cattle out for slaughter.

"That's great," boss man beams cheerily. "It's goin' well right outta the gate. Now, step two, hand over your weapons."

"Why should we?" I demand.

"Well, they're not yours," he informs us, tauntingly.

"What?" Abe hisses.

"See…" the man sighs. "Your weapons, your truck, the fuel  _ in  _ your truck, if you got mints in your glove compartment, if you got porn underneath the seat, change  _ in  _ the seats, hell,  _ the seats themselves, _ the floor mats, your maps, the little stash of emergency napkins you got there in the console, none of those things are yours anymore."

"Whose are they?" Sasha demands.

"Your property now belongs to Negan," he says, inching forward. "And if you can get your hands on a tanker, you're people our person wants to know. So let's get those sidearms, shall we? Right now."

He stops in front of me, and I know we ain't got the firepower to argue. Not on us. If I can get to the back of the truck… that RPG Abraham found back in town could take out all these sumbitches. And then some. Just gotta bide my time. I hand over my pistol.

"Thank you," the man says, moving to Sasha next.

She follows my lead, handing over her gun without a fight. The look on her face is almost identical to Adie's face back at Terminus, when she'd curtsied at them motherfuckers after unloading a ridiculous amount of weaponry onto the floor.

"Thank you," the man repeats, taking Sasha's gun and moving on to Abraham.

I can tell from the look on Abe's face, he wants nothing more than to snap this little asshole's neck. I just hope like hell he's down to play ball until we can feasibly gain the upper hand. We can get outta this but only if we play it right.

"If you have to eat shit, best not to nibble," the man says smugly, eyeing the dress blues Abraham's sporting. "Bite, chew, swallow, repeat. Goes quicker."

Abraham hands his gun over without a word, and the knot in my gut loosens some.

"Who are you people?" Sasha demands as the guy heads back towards his bike with our weapons. 

"I get the curiosity," he says over his shoulder. "But we have questions ourselves. And we'll be the ones asking them while we drive you back to wherever it is you call home. Take a gander at where you hang your hats. First, though, your shit. What have you got for us?"

God damn, walkers are easy to deal with compared to douchebag sumbitches and their douchebag sumbitch friends.

"Yeah, you jus' took it," I bluff.

"Come on," he scoffs, grinning. "I mean, can we not, okay? There's more. There's  _ always  _ more. T, take my man to the back of the truck, start inside the back bumper, work your way to the front."

He straddles his bike while one of his men shoves me around to the rear of the tanker. Jesus, I've had about enough of being grabbed on by skinny little dweebs for one fuckin' day. Still, this is where I needed to be. I can take this guy out. Helps that his apparent leader enjoys listening to himself speak. He's still blathering on at Sasha and Abraham, which makes it easier to take T down undetected.

I wrestle with the man, grappling for his weapon. It takes a few minutes, and the sumbitch manages to stab his knife into my shoulder blade, but I put him down and grab the RPG we've been toting around in the back of the truck. I have no idea how this thing works, but I aim and pull the trigger anyway.

Suddenly, all seven men and their bikes are blown to bits, the force of the blast knocking Abraham and Sasha on their asses. I fuckin' like this gun. Abraham and Sasha pick themselves up, Sasha staring in awe at the smoking weapon in my hands.

"Sumbitch was tougher 'n he looked," I announce, the stab wound in my shoulder beginning to throb.

"Did he cut you?" Sasha demands, eyes on my back as I turn to get back into the truck.

"A little," I admit. "What a buncha assholes."

"Let's get you fixed up at home," Sasha grins, pressing a rag to my injury.

"Yes, ma'am."

She don't gotta tell me twice.

*Adrienne's POV*

Miraculously, none of the walkers are drawn to Sam's voice. Not yet, at least. Rick stops us near the pond, not even halfway to the armory.

"All right, new plan," he whispers. "Flares from a few guns aren't enough. Too many walkers, too spread out. We're not goin' to the armory. We need our vehicles back at the quarry. All of us drive, we'll need to round 'em up. We leave, we come back."

"What about Ass-Kicker?" I question, concern furrowing my brow.

"I'll take her," Gabriel volunteers. "Keep her safe in my church until you all lead the walkers away."

"Can you do this?" Michonne asks pointedly, none of us over his betrayal just yet.

"I'm supposed to," Gabriel insists. "I have to. I will."

"You realize that's not remotely reassuring, right?" I hiss, stepping towards him. "We trust you with her and she has so much as a  _ split end _ when this is done, I'll gut you at the altar, so help me God."

He nods, and Carl hands the baby over.

"Take Sam," Jessie pleads.

"No, mom-" Sam protests.

"Sam, it'll be safer."

"Mom, I'm not leaving you."

"Sam-"

"Mom, I'm not!" Sam says firmly. "I can keep going."

It's settled. Gabriel makes his way slowly towards the church, promising to keep Judith safe. Sam comes with us. I grab onto Michonne's hand, taking my position at the back of our little human chain, and we're moving again. We just need to make it to the gate. We're not far, now. We're gonna make it. Darkness is falling rapidly and the walkers are getting more and more restless. I just try to concentrate on Michonne's hand in mine. Warm. Alive. We're gonna make it.

Then Sam lets go of Rick and Jessie, freezing like a deer in the headlights, refusing to move any further, and it happens. Two, no, three… three walkers descend on the little boy.

"Mommy!"

His screams echo, bouncing off every surface, horrific, drowning out all other sound as we just helplessly watch while the child's body is torn to pieces. There's nothing we can do. Jessie won't let him go, won't let go of his hand. It's like a domino effect. One falls, they all fall. Ashes, ashes. Jessie is swarmed, pulled to the ground and ripped apart. Rick's not moving. None of us are moving. But we have to. We have to. That's what we do. We run. We fight. We keep moving, no matter what.

"Rick," I shake his arm, trying desperately to pull him along with me, but he's rooted to the ground. "Rick!"

Jessie's hand shoots out from beneath the horde of corpses, her fingers wrapping around Carl's arm, clutching at him for dear life. She's gonna pull him down with her. This snaps Rick out of his haze, and he does the only thing he can do. I watch in silent horror as he whips out his hatchet and swings, cleaving Jessie's hand from her body, releasing Carl from her grip. It's almost calm, just for a second, until we realize that somehow, in the middle of all this, Ron's found a gun in his hands, which he's aiming at Rick.

"You," he growls. "You."

Michonne runs her katana through his chest, and the gun fires as the last Anderson falls to the ground. The bullet didn't hit Rick. It didn't. It sailed right past him. The relief is momentary.

"Dad?" Carl questions, lifting his face in the moonlight.

There's a bloody, gaping chasm where his eyeball is supposed to be. He passes out, blood oozing from the torn socket. Rick lifts him from the ground and we run, just like we did ages ago, the first time Carl was shot, side by side. Michonne and I flank our boys, cutting down walkers, clearing Rick's path to the infirmary.

-

I don't know how, but we're here. We're here, we got Carl here, we got him here, but, oh my god, it's too late. He's gonna die. It took all of two minutes, getting him here, but it already feels too late. Denise, the not quite, but as close as we've got  _ 'doctor' _ -beggars can't be choosers- who replaced Pete, flings open the door and the four of us barrel inside, Aaron already at the door with a gurney.

"This is a gunshot?" Denise questions calmly, tending to Carl immediately.

"Hand gun," Michonne confirms, breathless. "Close range."

"Please save him," Rick sobs helplessly, collapsing into my side. "Please."

I'm terrified. For the second time, Carl's bleeding out and we don't have access to a real doctor. Last time, we at least had a determined veterinarian. This time, we've got a psychologist who quit med school because she couldn't stand the sight of blood. Yet, despite the devastating amount of blood here, Denise is in her element, shouting orders to Michonne, Spencer, Heath, and Aaron. He's breathing. Carl's breathing. She's gonna save him.

After shedding his sheet, Rick moves numbly to the window, gazing outside at the walkers. I pull my sheet off and hurl it into the corner, moving to Rick's side. Oh, shit. They're coming for us, drawn to the light, but Denise can't operate on Carl without it, can't  _ save his life _ without it. Me and Rick, we have to go back out there. We have to fight. Because that's what we do. Rick pulls the hatchet from his belt and, unable to just stand by while one of the people I love the most on this godforsaken planet puts himself in danger, I unsheath my knife, following him out the door.

"What are you doing?" Michonne demands. "Rick! Adie! Rick!"

Rick isn't listening, and he can't do this alone, so I'm not listening, either. It can't just be him. We hurl ourselves into the fray, leaping from the porch and driving our blades into every dead asshole we can reach.

"Stay with me!" He snarls.

"Until the end," I assure him and, back to back, we fight.

Within a few minutes, Michonne, Heath, Aaron, and even Spencer have joined us. Glenn's voice echoes in my mind. We can do this together. But only together. The six of us form a haphazard circle, Spencer, Heath, and Aaron quickly picking up on what's become second nature to Rick, Michonne, and me.

"Knock 'em away!" Rick orders. "Drive 'em down!"

To my utter amazement, several more armed Alexandrians are tearing out of their homes, Eric and Olivia among them. They can do this. They're not too weak. They're  _ us. _

"We can beat 'em!" Rick roars, and this is our rallying cry. "We can beat 'em!"

We can beat them. A fire ignites in my belly and I'm consumed with rage. Each walker I take down, I think of those we've lost. The people we've watched die,  _ my family. _ Sophia. Jacqui. Andrea. Amy. Jim. T-Dog. Lori. Hershel. Ty. Merle. Beth. Bob. Noah. Dale.  _ Sam.  _ Every time my knife connects with another corpse, I see another face, the faces of people I loved. They will  _ not _ take anyone else away from me. Not again.

"Drive 'em back, that's it!" Rick cries. "We can do this together!"

Gabriel, Tobin, Rosita, Tara, Carol, Morgan, and, I almost don't believe it,  _ Eugene _ join the fight. We can do this. We're the ones who live.

"Keep it tight!" I holler. "Watch each other's backs and don't you stop for nothin'!"

We're doing it. We can beat 'em. We can do this. We can save this place and we can  _ live. _ Suddenly, gunshots erupt from somewhere beyond my field of vision. It's Glenn, it's gotta be. Strangers wouldn't risk a herd this size for nothing but the sake of calling themselves good samaritans. I whip my head around, searching. I can't see anything beyond the roving corpses, not in this limited light. I don't know what the hell is happening, but that amount of gunfire can't just be Glenn. Please. Please be Daryl. Please be safe.

*Daryl's POV*

We're finally home, and despite Abe's many assurances that whatever's going down is being  _ managed and kicked up into its own ass _ , all hell has broken loose. The back half of the quarry walkers, plus a few dozen, it looks like, have all of Alexandria surrounded. The clock tower has collapsed, taking a large portion of the east wall with it, and walkers are just pouring in through the breach. Maggie and that Enid girl are on up the watch post just inside the gate, shrieking frantically at something on the street below.

"Help 'em!" I snarl, bringing the tanker to a halt, front bumper flush with the gate.

Abraham and Sasha climb atop the truck, shooting down the walkers on the other side, and I thank whatever god happened to be smiling down on Abe back in that podunk little town where he found all that extra ammo.

"Can you get the gate?" Abe roars to whoever the hell's on the other side. "'Preciate it, pal!"

Glenn wastes no time, yanking the gate open while Abraham cackles maniacally, relishing in the fight like only Abraham does. I pull forward slowly, careful not to move too fast and send Sasha and Abe toppling to the ground. Once we're inside the gates, the two of them assist the girls down from the watch post and Glenn hurls himself into the passenger seat.

"What the hell happened?" I demand, ignoring the frantic anxiety clawing at my insides.

Where's Adrienne? That's what I really wanna know, what every cell in my body is screaming for while my eyes crawl over the scene inside, searching desperately for a glimpse of that hair, coming up empty.

"I dunno, I just got back," he pants. "Listen… we can, we can lead some of them away, but they're scattered."

"Nah," I counter, already having a plan, thanks to that scrawny fuck, Dwight. "We get 'em all together, won't have to lead 'em away."

I pound the roof of the car, signalling Abraham and Sasha to get their asses ready. I pull into the middle of town, backing the tanker right up to the pond. We're gonna open the valve and light this sumbitch up. A matchbook ain't gonna cut it. An RPG sure as shit will.

*Adrienne's POV*

Like a fuckin' dumbass, I've managed to get myself separated and cornered. I know better than this. Never let 'em corner you. But what I know and what I've done are two different things right now. I'm moments away from becoming dinner, dozens of walkers' jaws snapping feverishly at my neck, my arms, legs, anything they can get close to.

I've been backed into the ruins of the tower-meets-wall collision. I scramble onto one of the downed panels, clambering my way up the slippery metal sheet. If I can just get to higher ground, if I can climb high enough to reach the next panel, I can get away, get back to the group near the west wall. That's my plan. Unfortunately, my feet have other ideas. I stumble over one of the steel support beams, tumbling, slipping down the panel.

There's a sudden, sharp pain in my leg, liquid warmth spreading across my thigh and down my calf. I look down and my stomach rolls, threatening to spill its limited contents if I continue to stare. I've landed on top of a splintered chunk of wood from the toppled tower, turning myself into a goddamn walker kebab. The wood had splintered from a large piece of framework, forming a stake of sorts. A stake that had entered the back of my thigh and exited the front.

"Son of a bitch!" I snarl, gritting my teeth against the pain.

I can't drag myself off this thing, not if I'd prefer not to bleed out under a pile of rotting corpses. I'm still high up enough, they can't reach me. It's my only saving grace at the moment. I have the luxury of time, a few moments to figure out my next move. There's only one way out, only one option. I take my knife to the splintered wood, desperately sawing at it until I've separated it entirely from the rest of the frame it once belonged to.

Jesus Christ, I've never hurt this bad in my life. But I have to leave the stake in. It could be the only thing keeping me from bleeding out. I get to my feet, excruciating pain ripping through my body. For one horrifying moment, I'm afraid I'm going to pass out. Blackness is encroaching upon the edges of my consciousness, tempting me into what surely must be a blissful, painless sleep. Before I can give in, though, something explodes, startling me back into reality.

The pond is on fire, a flaming beacon, attracting the walkers like moths to its deadly, dancing flames. How the hell… I don't have time to wonder. I stumble my way down from the wreckage I'd been perched upon, limping my way around the walkers now beelining towards their own demise. Every movement is agony. I stay on the fringes of the herd, taking out only those who take notice of me.

The pain is nauseating. But I can see them, I can see Rick, Michonne, Carol… I can  _ see  _ them, I can make it. I have to. So I keep moving, willing myself to drag my leg along behind me, to help finish what we started. To protect my family, no matter the cost. Because that's who we are.

The herd is thinning, more and more of them drawn to the flames in the center of town, their bodies consumed by the blaze almost the moment they reach the pond. An apocalyptic funeral pyre. Some sick part of me is mesmerized by it, finding something so beautiful in the smoke and ashes, in the blaze. Finally, I manage to reach Michonne. She spots me, the relief that floods her face replaced with horror as she takes in my leg. Then her eyes widen in fear, her gaze settling on something just behind my shoulder.

"Adie!"

I whirl around. Three walkers, all converging upon me at once. I thrust my knife into one of them, yanking it out, intent on repeating the terribly familiar process with the other two. But my grip slips, and the blade falls from my blood slicked hand, clattering, landing too far from where I'm standing for me to even hope to reach in time. Weaponless, I plunge my thumbs into the yellow, cloudy eyes of the second walker, digging until they break through the membrane in the back of its eye sockets, puncturing the brain.

I wasn't sure it would be enough, but it goes still, thudding to the ground with finality. I turn to the last walker, only to find that another has joined it. I don't have time to take them both out with just my hands. I have one option. Only one. It might kill me. But I'll be damned if I'm dying without one hell of a fight. Not now, not after everything I've lived through. How hard I fought to be here. I grasp the wood protruding from my thigh and, with monumental effort, rip that son of a bitch out. It leaves my skin with a sickening squelch, the pain white hot, like lightning, striking me through, setting my nerves ablaze, and the sound that leaves my lungs is purely animal. I plunge the makeshift weapon into each walker, one right after the other.

They drop and my world turns sideways. I don't realize I've collapsed to the ground, at least not fully. I feel like someone's taken a pressure hose to both ears, all other sounds drowned out by the frantic rushing. The last thing I see before it all goes dark is the silhouette of a man my soul would recognize anywhere, in any realm, on any planet, any strange, foreign plane of existence. His features are cast entirely in shadow, backlit by the terrible, beautiful flames.

"Adie!" He snarls, and I'm suddenly floating. "Adie, you gon' hold on, you hear me? You ain't just gon' leave, you  _ ain't! You don't get to do that!  _ You hold on!"

Daryl's alive. I'm happy.


	69. What, You Surprised?

**Chapter 69**

*Daryl's POV*

"I need to cut her out of these," Denise says, somehow exuding calm despite the fact that Adie is bleeding out before our eyes. "Scissors. Daryl, move those towels when I say when. Almost there."

She's slicing through the seams of Adie's pant leg, and some small, stupid part of me is worried she'll be upset, because she likes these pants, but still I'm fighting the urge to scream at Denise to hurry the fuck up. She's dying. Can't she see? She's  _ dying. _

"Now," Denise orders, cutting Adie's pant leg clean off.

I move the towels. There's so much blood. Her skin is stark white, lips tinted gray. She looks dead, gone and I can't,  _ I can't. _ And here Denise is, stitching her up, spouting some shit about how  _ lucky _ she is to have missed the femoral artery, and I want to hit her for all her calmness, want to scream and yell and break shit, 'cause I ain't convinced lucky's the right word.

Eventually, the torn skin is stitched up, the blood wiped away, and she's tied to an IV and that's all that can be done. Nothing left to do but wait now. Denise fusses over me, insisting on stitching my own wounds, my arm and shoulder, telling me I need to rest. I ain't leaving this spot, I ain't closing my eyes. Not until hers are open.  _ I can't. _ I take her hand in mine, placing my thumb over her wrist so I can feel her pulse beneath her skin. It's faint, oh, god, it's barely there, but it's  _ there. _ Denise gives up trying to get me to move, assuring me that she'll be right in the next room if I need her.

"She's gonna be okay," she says confidently, covering Adie with a thin, wool blanket before leaving the room. "She just needs to rest. She's tough."

I nod, my eyes not leaving Adrienne's face. I  _ know _ how tough she is. Merle was tough, too. And Lori was tough and Beth was tough and  _ tough _ don't mean nothin' anymore. Eventually, Carol shows up. She only stays a few minutes, saying nothing. She smooths Adie's hair back, kissing her ashen cheek before heading to check on Carl. Adrienne receives several visitors through the night, even Rick, who leaves Carl with Michonne just long enough to be sure Adie's still breathing.

"How's she doin'?" Michonne murmurs when it's her turn to visit.

"You see what happened to her?"

"I didn't see how it happened," she says apologetically. "I didn't see her until right before she went down. She had a spike, a piece of the tower, stuck through her leg. I don't know how it got there. The walkers… she was fightin' a few of 'em off, but she dropped her knife, so she… she pulled that spike out and used it instead."

"Holy shit," Glenn blurts, materializing in the doorway with Maggie. "I knew she was tough, man, but… damn."

Tough. Tough don't mean nothin'. Christ, I wish they'd stop saying that shit.

"We just came to drop off clothes," Maggie announces, dropping a pair of men's sweats I think are Glenn's and an oversized t-shirt in my lap. "Wanted her to have somethin' comfortable when she wakes up."

"Thanks," I grunt.

The three of them leave and it's finally quiet, save for Adrienne's slow, steady breaths.

*Adrienne's POV*

My eyes are glued shut, I know it. I can't open them. I've been trying for years, or maybe just a few seconds, but it fuckin' feels like years. I'm so tired. I'll try again in a minute. I'm slowly becoming aware of the dull, throbbing ache in my leg. I must be sleeping on it weird. I try to move it, to roll over and readjust to a more comfortable position, but my body is like lead. God damn it. Why can't I move? This better not be some kind of sleep paralysis bullshit, 'cause I've heard of that and it doesn't sound pleasant.

"Adrienne?"

Daryl. Daryl is here. Unless I'm dreaming? Am I dreaming? Oh, fuck, I'm dead! Why am I dead? More importantly, if I'm dead, why the fuck do I hurt? That's  _ bullshit. _ I wrack my brain, trying to remember… what? It'll come to me. Something happened… something… 

"Adrienne," Daryl murmurs again, and this time my eyes flutter open.

"Jesus Christ," I mutter, snapping my eyes shut against the bright, intrusive light. "I'm blind."

"Adie," Daryl's voice again, hoarse and pleading.

It's then that it clicks. Daryl. Daryl is in this room. Daryl's back! Carol promised me she'd wake me up, what the hell?

"Adie, please," he whispers, his voice breaking.

Why is he crying? God damn it, I hate it when he's sad. My leg throbs painfully, and now I remember. The splinter, the walkers, the blood. Shit. Shit, shit,  _ shit. _ We have to get out of here.

"Daryl," I croak, panicked. "Daryl, the walkers…"

"Shh… hey, they're gone," he soothes. "We're safe."

I open my eyes slightly, squinting as they adjust to the light of day. My head feels like TV static, like the elusive, flickering picture of a show I desperately want to watch, just out of my reach. I'm in the infirmary, but I don't remember getting here. Last time I was here…

" _ Carl, _ " I blurt, my eyes flying wide open.

"He's okay," Daryl assures me. "Rick's with 'im."

I turn my head to the right, and there he is. I take in his features. His tired, red rimmed eyes, his soot stained skin… the blood. My vision blurs, hot tears springing to my eyes. He's home.

"You're back," I choke out, tears spilling over.

I prop myself onto my elbows, but before I can sit myself all the way up, Daryl's out of his seat to help, one hand on my back, the other on my right arm, gently bracing me as though my spine is suddenly gonna turn to jelly and I'm gonna fall right back onto the pillow. But I'm not. I'm okay. He's  _ here. _ I pull his face down to mine, pressing my lips against his.

He sinks down beside me, sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed. He breaks the kiss, pressing his head into my shoulder, his arms going limp as his body begins to shake. He's crying, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts. I wrap my arms around him, pressing little kisses to his neck, and he lets me hold him until the tears dry.

"What happened?" I ask him once we've both settled, eyeing the stitches in his forearm.

"Fell off the damn bike," he mutters, swiping his tears away with the back of his palm. "Finally made it 20 miles out, we were gon' circle around, come back, but some assholes started shootin' at us. We got separated."

"Sasha and Abe, are they…" I trail off, unsure how to phrase the question.

"They're back, and Glenn," he assures me.

"Is… is everyone else okay?" I question, terrified we'd lost someone or someones while I'd been unconscious.

"Yeah. Yeah, we're all okay," he tells me, wonder and disbelief lacing his tone. "Rick and Michonne are with Carl, Denise says he's gon' be fine."

I nod, already exhausted. Exhausted, but relieved. We're all okay, more or less. My leg throbs again, and this time I pull the covers aside to check out the damage.

"Well, shit," I mutter, gazing down at the neat little stitches holding the wounds closed, the fabric of my cargos cut away, leaving my entire leg exposed. "I liked these pants."

"Oh, good, you're awake," Denise chirps, entering the room with a large tray.

There's an odd assortment of food on the tray. A plate with a side of beans and a large hunk of beef on it, a baggie of mixed nuts, two -two!- of Olivia's highly coveted, quartered chocolate bars, and a tall glass of orange juice. My stomach rolls at the smell of the meat, nausea swelling in my gut.

"It's weird, I know," Denise admits, placing the tray on the nightstand beside me. "But all this stuff is chock full of iron, and you need all the iron you can get, as soon as you can get it, you lost  _ a lot _ of blood."

I'm staring at the meat. The smell… I'm gonna be sick. Denise busies herself checking my vitals, prattling on about orange juice being the holy grail of iron absorption, or as close as we've got, without real oranges, anyway.

"Heart rate's better," she informs me. "Not as good as I'd like, but better. Pressure's still low. How are you feeling?"

"Fine," I lie, looking anywhere but at the meat.

"Yeah, I'm gonna need you to cut the shit," she says. "How are you actually?"

That shocks the hell outta me. Denise is normally quite soft-spoken. Daryl snorts, evidently amused at my bewilderment at Denise's sudden tenacity.

"Uh, I'm nauseous," I admit, and she nods as if that's exactly what she's expecting to hear.

"Light headed?" She questions and I nod. "How's your pain, scale of one to ten?"

"Um, like a three, maybe," I say uncertainly, Denise looking at me dubiously as Daryl scoffs.

"Three means eight," he tells Denise, eyeing me as if he dares me to disagree.

"I'll be back with some pain killers," Denise says.

"No," I balk. "I'm okay, I can deal. Save 'em for Carl."

"We have plenty for both of you," she assures me, turning to leave. "Eat. Even half, whatever you can hold down."

"Aye aye, captain," I concede, snatching up the mixed nuts and attempting to pry open the bag.

"Here," Daryl grunts, taking the bag from my stupid, weak hands, tearing it open with his teeth before returning it to me.

"Thanks," I murmur, somewhat embarrassed at my inability to open my own damn nut bag.

I pop a small handful into my mouth, surprised at how hungry I am despite the nausea. I watch Daryl, chewing thoughtfully. He looks fucking exhausted. When the hell had he slept last?

"You should sleep," I suggest softly, offering him the bag.

"'M good," he insists, shaking his head, but his voice is laced with fatigue.

Before I can argue, Denise is back with a couple small, round tablets for me.

"Take these," she instructs, placing them in my palm and watching as I obediently drop them onto my tongue and wash them down with the juice. "I'll have more for you in about six hours. Eat."

She's gone almost as quickly as she'd come. Carl must be keeping her busy. Eyeing the meat skeptically, I skewer it with my fork. I feel about as strong as a wet paper towel and I'm not even gonna try to cut it into more manageable pieces. I lift the entire slab of beef to my mouth and, as delicately as possible, tear into the side with my teeth.

It's not remotely ladylike, but I just don't give a shit anymore. I'm suddenly ravenous, devouring the meat like it's a timed event. My system must be craving the iron, because this is the most delicious thing I've ever tasted. Or at least, that's how I feel about it right this second. I look up and meet Daryl's amused eyes mid-bite.

"What?"

"Nothin'," he smirks, shaking his head. "Jus' waitin' for you to unhinge your jaw 'n swallow the rest whole."

"Says the man who thinks every food is finger food," I roll my eyes, laughing despite myself, secretly delighted at his teasing.

"If you can eat it with your fingers, it  _ is  _ finger food."

"Fair enough," I concede, now focused on harpooning beans onto my fork.

"You're awake," Carol says, appearing in the doorway. "Good, Daryl can sleep now."

"I'm good," Daryl mutters, unwrapping the quartered chocolate bars and snapping them into small pieces for me.

"You need to sleep and she needs a shower," Carol points out.

"I ain't leavin' her," he insists, staring the woman down.

"Daryl, I'm fi-"

"You ain't fine!" He interrupts, eyes never leaving Carol's. "You almost  _ died. _ "

Says the man who fell down a fucking  _ cliff _ onto his own arrow and tried to walk it off. I'm  _ fine. _ I don't need to be coddled. 

"You gonna help her bathe, then?" Carol questions derisively, Daryl's ears reddening.

"I'm not a damn invalid," I snort, now snarfing down the chocolate, and holy shit, it's good. "I can shower all by myself."

"Go to your room, get some sleep," Carol instructs, staring right back at Daryl and ignoring me completely.

Daryl's not backing down, though, despite his embarrassment at the idea of assisting me with my hygiene. Carol's eyes soften and she lets out a weary sigh.

"Denise!" She shouts abruptly, striding across the room and taking a seat on the end of my bed. "Drink your juice, Adie."

"I can't, it didn't come with a silly straw," I mutter sarcastically.

She just shoots me a withering look, unable to respond before Denise comes bounding into the room.

"What?" She demands. "What's wrong?"

"When can I take Adie home?" Carol questions, smiling benignly, still playing Betty Crocker. "I just think she'd be more comfortable in her own bed, right, sweetie?"

"Oh, um," I say, startled at the realization that she's referring to  _ me _ as sweetie. "I guess, yeah."

"Honestly?" Denise questions, eyeing my now empty tray. "I just wanted to make sure you ate. Let me just grab another set of vitals, then you can go."

My vitals are about the same, but being as they haven't changed for the worse in the last ten minutes, Denise is comfortable discharging me.

"Just watch for swelling, redness, fevers, that kind of thing," she instructs as I place my feet on the floor. "Come back if any of those happen."

I nod and rise from the bed and the room is suddenly spinning. Daryl's arms catch me before I can fall, lifting me from the floor with ease.

"Sweet Jesus," I curse, curling into Daryl's chest.

"Take it easy," Denise says. "You're gonna be dizzy for a bit. Rest today. It's okay to rest right now, we're safe."

I give her a thumbs up. Sure, we're safe now. But what if that changes and I can't even hold myself up? This is such  _ bullshit. _ Then again… having Daryl's arms around me isn't so bad.

He carries me out the door, carefully maneuvering my legs through the frame and I think this may be my new preferred mode of transportation. Which is ludicrous. Lazy at least. I gaze around at the aftermath of last night's massacre. Walker bodies everywhere, blood literally running through the streets. This is gonna be one hell of a cleanup. Smoke still lingering in the air, thick and white, making the entire hazy scene look like old film.

"How the hell did the pond end up on fire?" I blurt.

"Daryl filled it with gasoline and shot an RPG into it," Carol says nonchalantly.

"Holy shit," I glance up at Daryl, who's avoiding my eyes but I can detect the slightest hint of a self satisfied smirk playing on his lips. "That's brilliant."

"What, you surprised?" He snaps, the ghost of a smile disappearing.

I feel a twinge of sadness. He thinks I'm surprised. And that's fucking sad, because it means that even now, he still doesn't see it. He doesn't see how smart and kind and just  _ good _ he is, like I do. Like we  _ all _ do. I'm gonna make damn sure one day he does. He's gonna know.

"No, asshole," I grin, his uncertain eyes finding mine. "I  _ know _ how smart you are, but I'm still impressed. And a little jealous I didn't get to shoot the big gun."

"Stop," He mumbles, the small smile returning to his face as his cheeks flush crimson.


	70. Everyone Likes Metallica

**Chapter 70**

"I  _ am _ capable of washin' myself, Carol," I mutter while she fills the bathtub with water.

We're back home. Daryl has been relegated to the other bathroom where he's supposed to take a shower and then  _ 'eat something, for god's sake.' _

"Adie," Carol snaps. "Please."

Then it dawns on me. She needs this. She needs to do something, keep herself occupied so she doesn't think about Sam. We'd lost him last night. Another kid she'd cared about despite her best efforts to shut it off. She can't shut it off, though. She's a mother by nature. She locks eyes with me and my heart breaks. Her sky blue eyes are red rimmed and brimming with unshed tears.

"Okay," I relent. "But… but don't think you can cop a feel just 'cause I'm butt ass naked and defenseless."

I smirk and the joke takes her by surprise, genuine laughter tumbling from her lips as I strip my clothes off and toss them aside. Surprisingly, I don't feel self conscious at all. It's not like it's the first time she's seen my naked ass, anyway. That winter we'd spent on the road, after the farm, we'd pissed in pairs. Privacy hasn't been a thing in a long time. Carol helps me into the water, taking care to keep my useless leg slung over the side of the tub. I'm not supposed to get the stitches wet for 48 hours.

Carol was prepared for this. She takes a damp washcloth and gently cleans around the stitches, then pats them dry with a second cloth before proceeding to wet my hair and, before I can protest, her fingers are working something vaguely citrus scented into my curls.

"Holy shit, Carol," I sigh, tingles running up my spine as she massages my scalp like a goddamned pro. "Not to be weird, but that feels incredible."

She snorts and rinses the suds from my head.

"You know, my hair looked a lot like yours when I was younger," she tells me, now working conditioner into my unruly mop. "I kept it long, too. Then I met Ed and… and I had to keep it short. Hardly mattered when it went grey, nobody looked at me anymore."

"Uh-huh," I scoff, turning my head slightly to look up at her. "That why Tobin can't take his eyes off you?"

"Shut up," she says, cheeks flushing pink, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth at the thought of a certain kind-eyed Alexandrian.

"When have I ever been capable of shuttin' up?" I question, chuckling. "You could shave your hair off and glue it to your ass and you'd still be beautiful, Carol."

To my dismay, tears begin to fall from her eyes. I want to go back in time and take a pickaxe to Ed's face. Pre-death. How dare anyone make Carol feel anything less than absolutely fucking  _ radiant? _ She sniffles, a smile spreading across her lips as she rinses my hair.

"Thank you," she murmurs, mercifully turning away while I wash my body. "No one's ever… no one's ever said that to me."

"Well they fuckin' should've," I grunt, reaching to pull the plug up out of the drain. "You're way outta Ed's league, anyway."

She helps me to my feet and stands near me while I dry off, just in case I go toppling down like the goddamn tower of Babel again. Apparently Maggie and Glenn had left clothes with Daryl while I was out last night. Once I'm dry and dressed in Glenn's sweats and an oversized t-shirt, Carol and I make our way down the hallway towards the room Daryl and I share.

*Daryl's POV*

"What're you doin'?" Adrienne questions from the doorway, Carol beside her.

"Movin' this," I grunt, sliding the bed into the corner of the room.

I ain't even sure why I decided to do it. Seeing her collapse last night… I thought she was dead, that I'd gotten here too late. I ain't gonna let nothin' get to her again. Not ever. So I'm moving this fuckin' bed into the corner so she has a wall to protect her on one side and anything on the other side has to go through me first.

"I can see that," she chuckles. "Why?"

"I'm gonna go see how Carl's doing," Carol announces, smiling at me knowingly as I straighten up and retrieve the quilt I'd tossed into the window seat. "Sleep. Both of you."

With that, she's gone, closing the door behind her. Adrienne limps across the room and sinks onto the edge of the bed, looking up at me expectantly.

"Which side's yours?" She asks, and I scoff internally.

"Scoot," I tell her, waiting for her to worm her way onto the wall side before covering her with the blanket.

I move the nightstand so it's situated against my side of the bed and place my gun on top of it. Then I sink into bed, pulling Adrienne close.

"Where's your crossbow, Archer?" She questions, looking around the room as though I've hidden it from her.

And so I tell her. I tell her about the burnt forest and Dwight and them assholes in the road and she's  _ outraged _ when I tell her Dwight and his wife took off with my bike and my crossbow, but she's just happy I'm back. And I don't tell her, 'cause my mouth is stupid and my brain is, too, but of course I'm back. I'll always come back. Ain't a crossbow or a bike or nothin' else in the world I'd trade her for.

"Why'd you move the bed?" She murmurs, nuzzling into my chest.

"Don't want nothin' bad to happen," I tell her quietly, comfortable enough with just her that I can admit my fear. "Ain't gonna let nothin' get you."

"What if I need to pee?" She blurts, eyeing me. "And you're sleepin'?"

"You jus' gon' have to risk it."

"I'm gonna remind you of that when I wake you up in the middle of the night 'cause I gotta climb over your ass to get out of our bed."

Her eyes are closed and her breathing is slowing the way it does when she's close to sleep. I press my lips to the top of her head, inhaling the scent of lemons and something vaguely floral clinging to her damp curls.

"You can sleep now," she sighs softly against my chest. "We're okay."

Yeah. We're okay. She's in my arms and she's warm, soft, alive, and she's okay, so I'm okay. Together, we drift off to sleep, not waking again until the sun is beginning to set low in the sky.

*Adrienne's POV*

When Daryl and I wake, it's around dinner time. He helps me from the bed and we make the unspoken agreement to head downstairs to forage. When the two of us round the corner into the kitchen, we're greeted by a round of applause. Most everyone is here, packed into the kitchen that only looks big when it's not occupied by nearly a dozen people.

Carol is pulling some kind of rice based casserole from the oven, placing it onto the counter beside several bottles of assorted alcoholic beverages. Abraham, Rosita, Eugene, Sasha, Glenn and Maggie are all gathered around her, most with drinks in hand.

"She lives!" Abraham hollers, raising a glass in my direction. "To Adie and her gigantic, steel plated nutsack."

"May we always and forever revel in her badassitude," Eugene adds, clinking his glass against Abraham's.

"Oh, my god," I snort, taking a seat as Rosita pours me a glass of Jack, Daryl standing just behind me. "What the hell is all this?"

"What we have here is a bona fide, grade A victory party," Abraham announces happily, cheeks already ruddy from the liquor.

"We have time for this?" I blurt, the drink in my hand hovering just shy of my lips.

"The stench of those dead assholes out there?" Abraham questions, eyes bright. "We can afford one night. We're livin', darlin'."

I look at the faces around me, all of them exhausted, but there's something else I haven't seen in a long time. Hope. We have hope. Last night… we'd done the impossible. Again.

"Well, in that case…" I hold my glass up and grin. "Bottoms up, Sergeant Ford."

*Daryl's POV*

I ain't too sure about this party bullshit, but the look on Adie's face makes it more than tolerable. The celebration has moved into the living room, and I'm seated on one of the sofas beside Maggie. On the other side of Maggie is Glenn, and Adrienne has settled herself in my lap, injured leg stretched out across Glenn and Maggie's laps.

Ain't too long ago her being on me like this in front of all them woulda bothered me, and it surprises me that it don't. Ain't like it's a secret, why should I give a fuck who sees?

"And then she goes," Glenn sputters, in the midst of an epic retelling of one of the many times Adie sassed Shane. "Clap your hands one more time, Walsh, and I'll kick your ass so hard you'll be wearin' your asshole for a necklace."

At this, everyone in the room bursts into alcohol fueled laughter. Well, almost everyone. Eugene is silent, casting mildly terrified eyes at the fearsome redhead perched upon my lap.

"I was tired of mornin' huddles," she chuckles, shrugging.

The party eventually dies down, everyone heading their separate ways sometime around midnight. I ain't on watch tonight, and part of me feels like I should be out there doing something useful, earning my keep, but a more dominant part of me is grateful I have more time to just be with Adrienne. She's insisted she can walk and is now limping her way up the stairs towards our room, putting on a show, bitching and moaning as theatrically as she can.

"Go on without me," she lets out a long suffering sigh, taking a single exaggerated step. "I'm not gonna make it. It's just too far. Tell my wife this isn't her fault."

I roll my eyes. I'm sure she's doing it to disguise how much pain she's actually in, but I know better than to argue with her at this point. Ain't like I can just toss her over my shoulder and haul her ass to bed if she don't want me to. I could. But I won't. 

When we reach our room, I pull the door shut and get the lights as she flops heavily onto the bed, scooting over and patting the mattress beside her as though there's any other logical place for me to go. I kick my boots off and practically crawl into bed with her, exhaustion weighing me down despite the six hour nap we'd shared earlier.

The moment my head hits the pillow, her arms are around me. That's all it takes. One touch from her, and the voice in my head that sounds like Merle, the voice that tells me I ain't good enough, that I don't deserve her, that no one's ever gonna give a shit about me… it's gone. All this time I never knew what love was supposed to look like. Didn't think it existed, really. A pipe dream for the desperate and lonely, and I refused to believe I fell into either category. Turns out, it looks like red hair and a foul mouth and a dimpled grin and only exists in  _ her. _

"I love you," Adie murmurs, her head falling against my chest.

The words are on the tip of my tongue.  _ I love you, too. _ But I can't. Not yet. I kiss the top of her head and hope she knows, that it's enough, allowing myself to be lulled to sleep by the sound of her breathing.

*Adrienne's POV*

"I'm comin' with you," I insist for the hundredth time, following Daryl down the street as he searches for Denise to clarify what she meant by  _ 'crush' _ on her list of supplies.

Daryl and Rick are leaving on a run today. It's been nearly a month since the wall went down and we're still rebuilding. Daryl, Rick, Carol, all of them, really, have been fighting me every step of the way. I've offered to help with cleanup. No, Adie, don't strain yourself. But I could help with the wall. No, Adie, you could tear your stitches. What about watch duty? I can sit on a platform with a gun, surely it's not that fuckin' strenuous. No, Adie, you need to rest. Personally, I think everyone's just afraid Daryl's gonna kick their ass if they ask me to do anything more involved than laundry.

I'm fucking  _ bored. _ I'm tired of feeling useless. I want to contribute again, earn my keep. My stitches have been out for two weeks, Denise says I healed up just fine. And, if I'm being completely honest, the thought of Daryl driving out those gates without me  _ again… _ I can't. I can't just sit here and wait and worry and wonder, not again. I can't do it. I won't. I'm going on this run, whether he likes it or not.

"Daryl-"

"Hey," he cuts me off, spotting Denise.

"Yes?" She questions, striding towards us.

"This thing at the bottom right here," Daryl points at the list. "You're talkin' 'bout the drink, right?"

"I am, but…" she trails off awkwardly, pushing her glasses further up the bridge of her nose.

"It's not medical," Daryl points out.

"No, I drew a line between the important stuff and that," she explains. "I just figured, if you saw it."

"All right," Daryl nods.

"Anything remotely medical is a priority," Denise rushes, for some reason seemingly quite nervous.

I guess Daryl sometimes has that effect on people. It's funny, really. Daryl's less likely to kill people than me or Rick or even Carol, and people are still skittish around him.

"And food, maybe even food before medicine, and gas or batteries or books for the kids or clothes, it's just if you see it, if it just happens to, you know, be right there."

"You like it, right?" Daryl questions, shrugging it off, unconcerned.

"No, I don't drink pop," she shakes her head adamantly.

"What the hell's pop?" Daryl demands, confusion lacing his tone.

"Oh, I'm originally from Ohio," Denise tells him, as if this explains all.

"Pop's the wrong way to say soda," I tease, earning a half hearted glare from Denise.

"Why you want it?" Daryl questions.

"Tara was talking about it in her sleep, I think," Denise admits softly.

Her and Tara are living together now. I guess having a type is pretty much obsolete these days, but I still think they're an unexpected couple. I thought Tara was into Holly. Turns out I was wrong.

"So either she likes it or she doesn't, but if she likes it, it'd be a really nice surprise," she stutters. "I'm not good with that kinda stuff, and she and Heath are goin' on that two-week run… I just thought it'd be a nice going away present."

Daryl's eyes slide to mine, full of some unreadable expression. Studying. I shift uncomfortably under his scrutiny and he looks away, Denise once again receiving his full attention.

"Just, uh… don't go out of your way," she continues. "And, uh, if it gives you any trouble-"

"I won't," Daryl assures her.

"Good," she says. "Okay, good, 'cause it's not important. I should've said so instead of just drawing a line."

"Got it," Daryl calls over his shoulder, already turned and walking away.

I fall into step beside him, and he's back to ignoring my presence altogether. Tough shit. I'm going. We meet Rick by the car, an older Chrysler, and he regards me expectantly.

"I'm goin' with you," I state calmly, flinging my pack into the backseat. "I've been useless for  _ weeks, _ Rick, I'm not just gonna sit here and, and… I dunno, keep burnin' Carol's casseroles, and I swear to god, if I have to hear Carl play More Than a Feelin' again, I'm cuttin' the cord on his boombox. It's like when I was fifteen and heard the Black Album for the first time, he's-"

" _ You _ like  _ Metallica? _ " Rick scoffs.

"Everyone likes Metallica!" I hiss. "That's not the point. Don't argue, I'm goin'."

"Okay," He nods. "We could use the extra pair of hands."

Daryl just glares and flings himself into the passenger seat. Rick snorts in amusement and slides in behind the wheel. I take the seat behind Daryl and we're off, rolling along towards the gate. Eugene pulls it open for us, then leans into Daryl's open window.

"I mapped out some of the agricultural supply places in the area," he informs us, holding a map out to Daryl. "Even if they've been cleaned out, my bet is that the sorghum would be untouched. Now, that there is a criminally underrated grain that could change the game with our food situation from scary to hunky-dunky."

"Oh, come on!" I groan. "You can't say shit like hunky-dunky and expect me  _ not _ to hit you, man."

"I'm talkin' standability, drought tolerance, grain to stover ratio that is  _ the _ envy of all corns," Eugene continues, unphased. "Think about it."

"Thanks," Daryl says, eyeing the man.

"All right," Rick nods.

"Okay," Eugene says, satisfied.

And  _ now _ we're off, finally outside the gates, speeding along down the road. I shake my curls loose, reveling in the feeling of the wind sweeping through the unruly waves, hanging my hand out the window and allowing my fingers to surf the air.

"Today's the day," Rick announces.

"Uh-huh," Daryl grunts, less convinced.

"We're gonna find food, maybe some people," Rick continues. "Law of averages has gotta catch up."

"I dunno, man," Daryl murmurs. "We ain't seen nobody for weeks. Maybe we ain't gon' find nobody. Maybe that's a good thing."

Rick ignores this, refusing to compromise his optimism for a more realistic view. Not today. He reaches for a CD beneath the console and Daryl balks.

"Don't," he begs, but Rick is already sliding the CD into the player. "Don't. Please don't."

"Gimme the downbeat, maestro!" The radio squawks loudly. "I want lay it on the line…"

"Draws 'em away from home!" Rick hollers, cranking the volume with a smirk and snapping his fingers in time to the godawful tune.

Daryl looks like he might strangle Rick. This little road trip is fun already.

"Well, if your music's gonna move me," I sing along, to Daryl's horror and Rick's utter delight. "I just gotta feel the beat!"

"Adie, have I ever told you what a truly  _ remarkable _ woman you are?" Rick asks smugly, directing a shit-eating grin at Daryl.

"Yeah," Daryl nods, glaring at me in the rearview. "A remarkable pain in the ass."

"Oh, is that how you feel, then?" I ask, pouting dramatically.

"Mhmm," Daryl nods, turning to look out the window as Rick and I throw ourselves into the chorus with gusto.

"That's gotta be action packed!" We finish, Rick drumming on the wheel while I wail on my air guitar.

"Hey. You two assholes see that?" Daryl demands, pointing to a large barn a ways down the road.

We park, the three of us exiting our vehicle and scanning the perimeter of the barn. There's nothing here. At least not outside the building. Rick and I cover Daryl as he lifts the sliding metal door -the word  _ 'SORGHUM' _ emblazoned across it, oddly enough- at the center of the barn. Rick and I head inside, checking both sides of the truck parked behind the door.

"You clear?" I question, not having encountered anything worrisome on my side.

"Yeah, we're good," Rick confirms, Daryl approaching the lock on the back of the truck.

"It ain't locked," Daryl observes, flipping the latch and lifting the grille.

"Holy shit." I murmur.


	71. Vengeance for the Plunderers

**Chapter 71**

"Well, how 'bout that?" Rick questions, eyeing the contents of the trailer. "Law of averages."

Daryl darts forward, examining the veritable treasure trove we'd just happened across. The trailer is jam packed, brimming with boxes filled with everything from canned food to bottles of shampoo.

"Yep," Daryl grunts, scanning the items as though he's taking a mental inventory.

"Let's get this thing goin', grab our gear, come back for the car later," Rick suggests. "Take another way back. See what we can see."

"Think it'll start?" Daryl questions, pulling the door back down and latching it.

"Yeah, I do," Rick nods, then snorts as something funny occurs to him. "Sorghum."

" _The_ envy of all corns," I nod solemnly.

We get the truck to start no problem. Unfortunately, there are only two seats. Rick is driving. He usually drives, he likes the control. Daryl takes shotgun, and I snug myself onto the floor between the two seats. I lean against the console, drawing my knees to my chest.

"Nah, you ain't ridin' like that," Daryl grunts. "C'mere."

He grasps my shoulders, maneuvering my body so my back rests against the side of Rick's seat, and pulls my legs onto his lap, settling into his seat once he's satisfied with my comfort level. I was fine the other way, but I'm not complaining. We're taking the scenic route home, and it's a pretty boring ride from down here on the floor, but I'm content.

"What's your favorite soda?" Daryl blurts abruptly.

"Root beer, hands down," I answer immediately.

"Wild Cherry Pepsi," Rick says decisively.

"Really?" I question. "Had you pegged for a Coke guy."

"Nah, wasn't sweet enough."

"What's yours?" I ask, glancing up at Daryl.

"Dr. Pepper," he nods, his eyes meeting mine. "Hands down."

"That's better than Pepsi," I tell him. "But root beer is the king."

"Ah, yes," Rick scoffs. "The favorite of five year olds across the nation."

"Only the best for America's youth," I murmur solemnly, placing a hand over my heart.

"There's a gas station," Daryl announces, pointing out the window. "Might be worth checkin'."

Rick pulls over and the three of us hop out of the truck. Rick and I scan the perimeter and Daryl heads for the doors, peering through the glass. Evidently he sees nothing worth breaking in for, turning and striding towards an overturned vending machine.

"Yo," he calls us over, slapping the vending machine. "Gimme a hand with this."

Rick and I approach and Daryl's eyes narrow, glaring at me.

"Not you," he tells me, turning to Rick. "We got it. Let's flip it over."

The two men attempt to flip the hunk of glass and rusted metal, but they can't. I'm not gonna lie, a small, vindictive part of me is gloating. _'Not you,'_ he said. Well, looks like they could've used my help. I wasn't gonna waste the energy trying to move it. We have a _truck._ But far be it from little ol' me to tell _the men_ that. Amusedly, I watch them struggle and give up.

"I don't think we got it," Rick sighs, Daryl rounding to the other side of the downed machine.

"No, no. I think it's workin' out fine, just give it another push," I smirk, unable to help being just a little bit smug. "You know, it's really too bad we don't have a truck, like with a hitch on the back or somethin'."

Daryl whips his head around, eyes flickering between the truck and the vending machine.

"Why didn't you say nothin' before?" He demands.

"Well, you didn't want my help," I point out breezily, earning glares from both men.

Rick pulls the truck around and backs up towards the vending machine, stopping about a yard away. Daryl and I attach the machine to the trailer hitch with a couple thick chains and step back so Rick can pull forward. Once the machine is successfully flipped face up, Rick cuts the engine and joins us beside it.

"It's soda and candy," he points out. "Why the trouble?"

"Wasn't any trouble," Daryl mutters, looking over the machine for the best way to get it open without having to smash the glass.

None of us notice the guy in the beanie and duster until his body slams into Rick's. The three of us draw on him immediately, the stranger backing away with his hands raised.

"Hi," he says, voice slightly muffled by the bandanna he's wearing over the lower half of his face.

"Back up!" Daryl orders, placing himself protectively in front of me. "Now!"

"Keep 'em up," Rick warns, the man's hands lowering slightly.

"Woah… easy, guys," he soothes. "I was just running from the dead."

"How many?" Daryl demands.

"Ten, maybe more," the stranger replies, Rick backing away to peer in the direction he'd come from, searching for the supposed walkers. "I'm not risking it. Once it gets to double digits, I start running."

"Where?" Daryl questions.

"About a half a mile back," the man tells him. "They're headed this way. You probably have about… 11 minutes."

I squint into the trees, watching and listening. This guy is full of shit. I'd bet on it.

"Okay," Rick says, holstering his weapon. "Thanks for lettin' us know."

"Yeah," the man nods. "There's more of them than us, right? Gotta stick together. Right?"

Daryl lowers his gun after a moment, but I still don't trust this guy. I keep my weapon raised, the stranger regarding me with wary eyes.

"You have a camp?" He questions.

"No," Daryl lies.

"Do you?" Rick asks.

"No," he says, but there's no way in hell he doesn't. His clothes aren't nearly worn enough for him to have been living out on the road. "Sorry for running into you. I'm gonna go now."

He turns, and Rick reaches over and gently pushes my weapon down. Fine. I'll lower it, but I'm keeping it in my hand. Rick eyes me questioningly. I can tell he's thinking about bringing this guy with us.

"Rick, no," I murmur softly.

"If this is the next world, I hope it's good to you guys," the man says, loping off in the direction opposite where we stand.

"I'm Rick," Rick announces, ignoring the daggers my eyes are shooting into his brain. "This is Daryl and Adrienne. What's your name?"

"Paul Rovia," the stranger replies, turning and pulling the bandana from his face. "But my friends used to call me Jesus. Your pick."

Well, damn. Maybe if the son of god had a side gig modelling for GQ. This guy's staying somewhere with the resources to shower and maintain his beard. No camp, my ass.

"You said you didn't have a camp," Rick states. "You on your own?"

"Yeah," Jesus says. "But still, best not to try anything."

"Best not to make threats you can't keep, either," Daryl spits.

"Exactly," Jesus nods, smiling benignly before turning to leave.

"How many walkers-" Rick starts.

"Nah," Daryl cuts him off. "Not this guy."

"How many walkers have you killed?" Rick shouts over Daryl's protests.

"Sorry," Jesus hollers, not even turning back. "Gotta run. You should, too. Think you got about seven minutes!"

"What the hell was that?" Daryl demands once the strange man is out of sight.

"He was clean," Rick points out. "His beard, it was trimmed. There's more goin' on there."

"He didn't have a gun, either," Daryl says.

"We could track him," Rick suggests.

"Or," I start. "Or, we could take that truck and haul ass home before some bullshit inevitably goes down and we lose it. Mind our business and take care of our own."

"We could watch him for a while, get to know more," Rick presses. "See if he's really alone. Maybe bring him back."

"Nah." Daryl disagrees, disgusted. "Guy calls himself Jesus."

Before any further discussion can be had, we hear what sounds like gunshots coming from behind the gas station. The three of us tear back there, rounding the corner only to see a metal barrel emitting sparks and a shit ton of smoke. Son of a bitch. We've been played.

"Firecrackers," Rick observes, reaching into his pocket. "Shit!"

"Hell," Daryl huffs. "He swiped your keys, didn't he?"

Son of a bitch! I whirl around, sprinting to the front of the gas station just in time to watch our lord and savior take off with our truck.

"Sorry!" He hollers smugly as Daryl and Rick join me in the road, the three of us watching our swindled supplies disappear down the street in a cloud of dust, vending machine and all.

"Shit," Rick hisses.

"Well, come on then," I snap, breaking into a run.

It's not like we have another choice. We run, eventually losing sight of the truck but still able to follow the trail the tires are leaving in the dirt road. We've run miles, sweat pouring from our bodies in the miserable, southern heat. Eventually we come across the vending machine, the chains holding it to the truck evidently having given up somewhere along the way.

I reach it first, having been several lengths ahead of my companions the entire way thus far. I stop beside the machine, which is miraculously still intact, and double over to catch my breath. Daryl and Rick reach me a few moments later, the latter mimicking my position to catch his breath while Daryl examines the vending machine.

He produces a crowbar from his pack and brings it down on the glass, breaking the machine open like a mechanical piñata. Reaching into the machine, he pulls out an assortment of chips and candy, and several cans of orange crush.

"This was a special request from the doctor," he points out, holding up two of the cans in one hand, then tossing them into his pack before cracking open the side of the third.

"Hey, whatever she wants," Rick says breathlessly, Daryl taking a sip from the can before passing it to the other man. "She saved Carl's life. Adie's, too. We didn't know her, and she turned out to be all right."

He sips from the can, then hands it to me. It's flat and hot, but we don't care. I pass the drink back to Daryl.

"If there's still people out here, and they're still people, we should bring 'em in," Rick continues.

"What, like this guy?" Daryl scoffs, taking another half swallow of the sticky sweet liquid.

"No, fuck this guy," Rick concedes, taking the can Daryl's holding out for him.

"Good," I huff, grabbing my foot and pulling it up behind me, stretching my sore, protesting muscles, repeating the process with the other leg. "This guy's a dick."

"We still got a trail," Daryl points out, Rick passing what's left of the soda to me.

I drink the rest, then crush and toss the empty can into the sad, busted vending machine.

"Let's go," Rick says, the three of us taking off again.

-

Unbelievably, after only a few more miles, we come across the truck. It's stopped in the middle of the road, Jesus the thieving fuck crouched beside one of the front tires. Looks like he had himself a little blow out. Serves the bastard right. We duck into the woods on the side of the road, following Daryl's lead. We're gonna ambush him. Personally, I think we should just shoot him.

This is why I've been ordered to stay put, abandoned in the woods while the boys take down the enemy with as little force as possible. I watch as Rick sneaks up behind him, pulling the unsuspecting man to his chest.

"Hold still," he commands. "And maybe we won't hurt you."

It's ineffective. Jesus has no intention of holding still. He slips from Rick's grasp, his body a blur as he takes Rick, then Daryl down. God damn it. I hurl myself from the trees, propelling my body into Jesus and knocking us both to the ground. Straddling the man, I pull my gun out and press it to his temple. He freezes, smirking cockily up at me.

"Adie," Rick warns, waiting for me to back off. "Adie!"

I sigh defeatedly, rising to my feet and stepping backward to stand between Rick and Daryl, both of whom are now armed and ready to shoot should Jesus try anything stupid. I take note of the walker now shambling it's way out of the woods. I'm not gonna stop it, though. It'll reach Jesus before it reaches us.

"This is done," Rick spits.

"Do you even have any ammo?" Jesus questions wearily.

The men on either side of me raise their guns, each firing a single round into the approaching walker. These assholes. Like we have bullets to waste. They exchange a surprised glance, then turn their attention back to the man on the ground.

"Okay," Jesus concedes. "You gonna shoot me over a truck?"

"There's a lot of food on that truck," Rick growls. "The keys. Now."

"I think you know I'm not a bad guy." Jesus attempts to reason.

"Yeah?" Rick counters. "What do you know about us? Give me the keys. This is the last time I'm askin'."

Jesus eyes me, and I can't tell if he's annoyed or amused. Maybe a little bit of both.

"Rick?" I question smugly, gloating just a little bit.

He tears his eyes from the begrudgingly impressed man on the ground and glances at me questioningly. I dangle the keys I'd pilfered from Jesus's pocket, Daryl scoffing in disbelief at my small triumph before pulling a bundle of rope from the back of the truck. He and Rick subdue Jesus, binding his wrists and ankles together. Daryl digs through his pack, presumably to leave something edible for the man we're abandoning on the side of the road.

"Damn it," he curses, one of the cans of crush having exploded during the struggle with Jesus, leaving the contents of his backpack soaked with the sticky, orange mess.

"You're gonna leave me here like this?" Jesus questions. "You're really gonna do that?"

"Well… the knots aren't that tight," Rick says, crouching down in front of him. "You should be able to get free. After we're long gone. Adie, keys."

I pass him the keys, eyeing Jesus warily as Rick rises to standing. He's a little too calm for my liking.

"Maybe we should talk now," he says conversationally.

"Nah," Daryl grunts, tossing the crushed can of soda at him. "Here. In case you get thirsty."

He slings his arm around me and guides me into the truck. Rick and Daryl slam the doors shut and I settle cross-legged on the floor between the seats, my back against the console.

"Adie," Rick sighs, twirling the keyring on his index finger and glancing down at me in frustrated admiration.

"Yeah, you're welcome."

He and Daryl exchange a glance, and then they're laughing, happy disbelief etched upon both their faces. Daryl's low chuckle reaches my ears and I can't help but grin. That laugh… that's my favorite sound in the entire world. He reaches into his pack and pulls out the last sticky, dripping can of orange crush and places it in the cupholder. Rick starts the engine and Daryl holds his hand out the window, raising his middle finger to the man in the rearview.

"So long, ya prick!" He hollers, placing his feet up on the dash as we speed away with our earnings.

Rick turns on the CD player, some godless, horrifying country tune spilling from the speakers. I can't even be mad. We're heading home with months worth of supplies for our people, and we barely have a scratch between the three of us, Daryl is distributing pieces of a king sized kit kat bar… life's good.

"Still worked out," Rick says happily, popping the last bit of his kit kat into his mouth. "Today is still the day."

Daryl reaches forward and cranks the volume up a bit. So he likes country music. Well, then. Now I really can't complain, watching Daryl chew contentedly, one foot just barely tapping to the beat. It's rare he's this at ease, and I can't help the happiness swelling in my chest. I love this man. He snaps off another chunk of candy bar and hands it to Rick.

"Hey, look at that," Rick points to something in the distance, turning off the road.

"Yeah, a barn," Daryl says, probably for my benefit, what with my being down here and unable to see anything beyond the tops of trees flying by.

Something thuds and for a moment I think we've run something over, but… the sound is coming from above us, like something's smacking into the- no fucking way.

"You hear that?" Rick questions, squinting in confusion as Daryl reaches for the dial, lowering the volume.

"Think that sumbitch is on the roof!" Daryl barks, glaring up at the ceiling.

"Hold on," Rick hisses, and I brace myself, clutching the sides of his and Daryl's seats as he brakes. Hard.

I get to my knees and peer over the dashboard just as Jesus pops up from the ground, having been hurled from the roof by the sudden stop. His eyes meet Daryl's, then he breaks into a sprint. Rick floors it, speeding after Jesus as quickly as the truck will allow him to accelerate. It's not quick enough for Daryl.

"Motherfucker," he mutters, flinging himself from the moving vehicle.

"Daryl!" Rick and I screech in unison, but he's already out the door, chasing after the pain in the ass that is Paul Rovia.

I hurl myself into the passenger seat as the four of us enter into a bizarre game of chicken, Rick and I herding Jesus with the truck, Daryl on his feet facing off with the man in the middle of the field. Also in the field, unfortunately, are several walkers bound to a tractor with weathered, fraying rope.

"God damn it, park this thing!" I holler, hurling myself from the truck and watching in horror as the ropes snap.

"We came to a conclusion, asshole!" Daryl yells, still chasing Jesus down when Rick enters the fray. "I got 'im!"

With that assurance, Rick and I lunge for the walkers, knives plunging into skulls while Daryl wrangles our little problem. I'm pulling my blade from the last walker when a single shot rings out. I whirl around just in time to see another walker collapse to the ground, just inches from where Daryl stands. Jesus is in the cab of the truck, smoking gun in hand.

"Thanks," Daryl snarls, his fist connecting with Jesus's face as the two battle over the weapon. "That's _my_ gun!"

He leaps into the cab and, in the ensuing struggle, one of them manages to disengage the parking brake, the two men tumbling from the vehicle as it begins to move backwards, gaining speed as it rolls down a slope and straight into the lake at the edge of the property. On the way down, the open door smacks Jesus upside the head and he collapses to the ground, unconscious.

"Oh, you gotta be _shittin'_ me," I hiss as Rick and I join Daryl, absolutely bereft, the three of us watching the truck sink to the bottom of the tepid, murky water.

"You all right?" Rick questions, glancing at Daryl.

"Yeah," he grunts. "Law of averages… that's bullshit, man. Let's go check them cars, get the hell outta here."

"What about the guy?" Rick asks, gesturing at the unconscious man on the ground.

"What about 'im?" Daryl counters.

"Well, he helped you," Rick points out.

"Maybe," Daryl concedes.

"He ever pull a weapon on you?" Rick demands.

"Fine," Daryl sighs, glaring. "Let's put 'im up a tree."

But we don't. Rick insists we take him with us. He could be a resource. We can't just leave him. Blah, blah, morals, we're better than that, blah. So we haul his ass into an ugly old hatchback and head home. I'm in the passenger seat, seething, while Rick drives. Daryl, also seething, is in the back seat next to Jesus, Rick amusing himself by jerking the wheel every so often, throwing Jesus into his side, which might be funnier if I wasn't so damn pissed off. That truck could've set us up for at least two months.

"He took a pretty hard hit," Rick observes as Daryl shoves the unconscious man off his shoulder for the third time. "Denise needs to look him over."

"Yeah," Daryl grunts, not sounding fully convinced.

"You wouldn't've gone through with it," Rick insists, eyeing Daryl in the rearview. "You wouldn't've left 'im."

"I would've," Daryl counters. "Right up in a tree. I would've."

"If you'd've just let me shoot him on the road, we'd be unloadin' that truck right now," I snarl, flinging my hands in the air, anger spilling over as I sink lower into my seat, glowering at the setting sun.

"No," Rick says, unphased. "No, I know. Almost as soon as we got to Alexandria, you got it. Both of you."

"Got what? That we had to _weed_ out the weak?" I demand furiously.

"Daryl," Rick says, ignoring me almost entirely. "You saw. You… and Michonne, Glenn, you all tried to tell me. So shut up."

He jerks the wheel one more time, Jesus once more landing on Daryl and Daryl, once more, shrugging him off.

"'Cause I'm finally listenin'," Rick finishes, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

"This pacifist bullshit's gonna get us all killed," I mutter. "Law of averages… you know, my man Murphy came up with a better law. What can go wrong _will_ go wrong, Rick."

"How 'bout you shut up, too?" He suggests, chuckling at the irate glare I cast in his direction.

We don't reach home for another several hours, the sun having been swallowed up by darkness long before our walls come into view. I find my eyes wandering to the large, white sign we'd made to hang on our gate. 

WELCOME TO THE

ALEXANDRIA

SAFE ZONE

MERCY FOR THE LOST

VENGEANCE FOR THE PLUNDERERS

And yet, here we are, bringing home a tuckered out little plunderer in our back seat. An entire day gone, returning with nothing more than a goddamn stray. This is such bullshit.

"You know, I was thinkin'..." Daryl murmurs as we approach the gate. "Back before we went out to the quarry. The mornin' after Reg n' Pete. You said we shouldn't be lookin' for people no more. You were right."

"No," Rick counters, coming to a stop in front of the gate. "I was wrong. _You_ were right."

The gate opens. Home, sweet home.


	72. And I'm Still Not Sorry

**Chapter 72**

*Daryl's POV*

"How'd y'all fare?" Eugene questions the moment Adie's out of the vehicle, having followed the car to the front of the infirmary.

"Hunky-dunky," she snarls, stalking up to the door without another word.

Eugene wisely takes that as his cue to leave, heading back to his post at the gate. Rick and I pull Jesus from the backseat and carry him up the porch steps where Adrienne's waiting. She raps on the door a couple times, the porch light flickering on above our heads before the door flies open, Denise appearing with Tara right behind her.

"Sorry to wake you up," Rick says sincerely as the doctor's gaze falls upon the unconscious man we're struggling to hold above the ground.

"Who is this?" Denise questions.

"Doesn't matter, he's leavin' soon as he's conscious," Adie snarls, glaring at Jesus with contempt.

"Come on, man, he's heavy," I grunt. "Oh, that… that thing, uh, it didn't work out. It's this asshole's fault. Sorry."

"Lay him on the bed," Denise instructs with a nod.

"All right, take a look at 'im," Rick says, the two of us stepping inside.

"He ain't stayin', though," I reiterate, not giving a damn if Rick agrees.

Adrienne stalks in behind us, shutting the door as we lay Jesus down on the bed for Denise to examine. Exam's over pretty quick. He's got a concussion. More than likely gonna wake up and be just fine, other than a headache. Soon as Denise delivers the news he ain't a dead man, Adrienne scoffs and stomps off towards home. Rick and I transport our charge to the cell in the unfinished brownstone. We place him on the floor, leaving bandages, a glass of water, and a note explaining where he's at. It's more than what he deserves.

"We'll see," Rick says thoughtfully, eyeing the man. "It is pretty stupid of us to go out there, isn't it?"

"Yep," I agree, following him from the room. "Do it again tomorrow?"

"Yep."

"Without Adie."

"I dunno how we'd've fared without her today," he points out. "If you wanna tell her she can't come, more power to you. I'm not gonna tell her."

"Nah," I mutter. "We had too many close calls. I don't want her out there."

"Somethin' tells me it ain't up to you," he chuckles, clapping me on the shoulder as we part ways in front of our houses. "See you both in the mornin'. Get some sleep, brother."

Nah, it ain't up to me. Guess I'm gonna have to fight her again in the morning. And give in again. I make my way inside and up the stairs, entering the darkened room I share with Adie. She's already in bed, but I can tell she ain't sleeping yet. I don't remember when exactly I picked up the habit, but at some point in our time at the prison I'd taken to counting her breaths from the next cell over when I couldn't sleep. I can tell when she's awake.

"Hey," I murmur, falling into bed beside her.

"Hey," she echoes softly. "Who's babysittin' the Lord?"

"Denise."

" _ Just _ Denise?"

"Nah, Tara's with her," I assure her. "You all right?"

"Mhmm," she nods, then changes her mind and shakes her head. "No. I… I'm just… that truck could've kept people here fed for, what, two, two and a half months? Maybe more. I just keep thinkin' about it, sittin' there at the bottom of that damn lake just… just  _ sittin'  _ there."

"Me too," I pull her close and she curls into me. "Ain't nothin' we can do about it now, though. Jus'... try again tomorrow."

"I'm goin'," she insists, eyes catching the moonlight filtering through the blinds as they snap up to mine.

"Yeah," I sigh, already defeated. "I know."

Then her lips are on mine and she's pulling me in, and I forget all about lakes and trucks and bearded assholes in hats for a little while.

*Adrienne's POV*

Daryl's sleeping and I'm being a creep, watching his bare chest rise and fall in time with his breath. He's so beautiful this way, completely unguarded and at peace, and I can't help but tear up just a little bit. I wish I could go back and undo every scar, every unkind word, every time anybody ever took anything from him, every time his soul ever hurt. I want him to believe. We rarely get moments like this. Quiet nights together, nothing but the warmth of his skin against mine as I press my ear to his chest and listen to his heartbeat.

So why the fuck can't I sleep?

Anxiety is gnawing desperately at my insides. I find myself thinking of Maggie, of the baby growing in her belly, and I feel sick. With Daryl and I doing what we've been doing, I'm terrified I'm gonna end up like Maggie. Bringing a baby into the world was dangerous before, now it's… I can't shake the image of Maggie, torn apart and gone, from my head. Like Lori. I don't wanna give it up, being so close to him, this feeling of being known, but it's not like we can just pop around the corner to the local CVS and stock up on morning after pills, and Maggie, Glenn, Rosita, and Abraham had apparently burned through the finite condom supply shortly after our arrival at Alexandria.

Careful not to wake Daryl, I crawl over him and slip out of bed, shivering involuntarily when the cool air tickles my bare skin. I pluck Daryl's discarded shirt from the floor and pull it on, silently yanking on my shorts and boots before creeping across the room and out the door, making my way down the stairs and out into the night. I just need some air. I perch myself upon Carol's porch swing, drawing my knees to my chest and looking out into nothing.

"Hey," Daryl, fully dressed, sinks down beside me. "You gon' tell me what's wrong?"

"I'm sorry I woke you up," I murmur.

"You didn't," he grunts, chewing his lip. "You not bein' there did."

"I stole your shirt," I say lamely and he scoffs, not bothering to respond to the obvious statement.

We sit in silence for a few moments. He's nervous, chewing on his thumb, glancing at me from beneath his lashes every so often. I lay down on my side, placing my head in his lap.

"Maggie's pregnant," I blurt, but it's not news to him. Glenn had spilled the beans a week ago. "I'm just… worried. After, after what happened to Lori I… I can't stop seein' her, seein' Maggie like that."

"That ain't what you're worried about," he says evenly, taking one of my hands in his. "Ain't all of it, anyway."

"No," I admit softly, looking up at him. "Not all of it. That's the price we pay, though, isn't it? For bein' alive. For lovin' someone. Bein' afraid all the time."

"Would you change it?"

"Lovin' you?" I question, and he nods, bracing himself.

I sit up and place my hands on either side of his face, waiting for him to look me in the eye before speaking. He looks so scared, so vulnerable. So different from the man I'd met in Atlanta, cold and angry and trying too hard not to appear afraid of anything.

"Hell, no," I tell him, his gaze finally meeting mine. "I love you. And I'm still not sorry."

I press my lips to his and he melts into my touch, his fingers weaving through my hair as he pulls me onto his lap. Would I change it.  _ Duh. _ Nothing could change this, even if I  _ did _ want to. This feels like forever and, for the first time in my life, forever feels pretty fucking good.

"Hey!" Glenn hisses, Daryl and I springing apart like two teens caught in the backseat of their parents' car on prom night. "You two see that guy you guys picked up?"

"He's in the cell," Daryl mutters, he and I getting to our feet and following Glenn, Maggie, and Abraham towards Rick's place.

"Not anymore," Abraham says ominously.

The five of us let ourselves in, stopping short at the bizarre scene we're met with halfway up the stairs. Paul Rovia, seated nonchalantly at the top of the staircase like he belongs there. Carl, perturbed, gun in hand. Rick, shirtless beside him. And beside Rick…  _ I knew it. _ Michonne, buttoning her jeans, her tank top haphazardly thrown on.

"It's… it's okay," she stammers, embarrassed at the sudden audience.

"Not that this is the right time, but-"

"Adie, shut up!" Rick hisses, cutting me off.

"I told you so!" I rush out triumphantly as Glenn, hardly able to contain his glee, let's out what can only be described as a cackle.

Michonne and Rick are sleeping together. I fucking called it. It makes so much sense. Those two idiots should've been together months ago.

"You said we should talk," Rick addresses Jesus gruffly, changing the subject. "So let's talk."

Eventually, we're all in Rick's dining room, fully clothed. I'm standing in a corner beside Abraham, staring Jesus down while Daryl paces, circling the group like a shark. A ludicrously hot shark. Rick, Michonne, Carl, Glenn, Maggie and Jesus are all seated together awkwardly at the dining table. I stifle a yawn, glaring at the early morning sunlight filtering through the window. I feel bad I'd robbed Daryl of a decent night's sleep.

"So," Rick clears his throat. "How'd you get out?"

"One guard can't cover two exits," Jesus says simply. "Or third floor windows. Knots untie and locks get picked. Entropy comes from order, right?"

Smug little shit.

"Right," Daryl grunts, glaring at the man.

"I checked out your arsenal," Jesus continues. "I haven't seen anything like that in a long time. You're well-equipped, but your provisions are low. Very low for the amount of people you have. Fifty-five?"

"More than that," Maggie says flatly.

"Well, I appreciate the cookie," Jesus says abruptly. "My compliments to the chef."

So he'd been in Carol's kitchen. Daryl and I were right upstairs… oh,  _ fuck. _ This little stealth weasel was in the house  _ while _ we were… Jesus Christ.

"Yeah, she ain't here," Daryl growls.

"Look, we got off to a bad start," Jesus sighs, eyeing him. "But we're on the same side. The living side. You, Rick, and Adie-"

"Adrienne," I snap.

"You, Rick, and  _ Adrienne, _ " Jesus amends. "Had every reason to leave me out there, but you didn't. I'm from a place that's a lot like this one. Part of my job is searching out other settlements to trade with."

"So the shit you pulled out there, that was a trade, was it?" I question pointedly. "I don't think you know what that word means."

"I took your truck because my community needs things, and the three of you looked like trouble," Jesus says, amused eyes landing on my face. "I was wrong. You're good people. And this is a good place. I think our communities may be in a position to help each other."

"Do you have food?" Glenn questions.

"We've started to raise livestock," Jesus nods. "We scavenge, we grow. Everything from tomatoes to sorghum."

"Sorghum," I repeat, throwing my hands in the air.

"Tell us why we should believe you," Rick demands.

"I'll show you," Jesus announces. "If we take a car, I can get you back home in a day, and you can all see for yourselves who we are and what we have to offer."

"Wait," Maggie says softly. "You're looking for  _ more  _ settlements. You mean you're already trading with other groups?"

"Your world's about to get a whole lot bigger." Jesus grins.

*Daryl's POV*

"Wrench," I grunt, Adrienne obliging and placing the tool into my outstretched hand.

We're fixing up the RV, making damn sure it's road-worthy before making the trip to wherever the hell Jesus came from. Well,  _ I'm _ fixing up the RV. Adie has all the mechanical inclinations of a three year old. She's just here to keep me company, I guess.

"Here," Denise says abruptly, showing up behind me and thrusting a cling wrapped lump of something at me. "Homemade oat cake. Complex carbohydrates, omega-3's…"

"Nah, I'm good," I tell her, turning back to the inner workings of the RV. "We're gonna make a pit stop. I'll pick up somethin' then."

"Like  _ rabies? _ " Denise counters, and Adrienne tosses her head back with laughter.

"I'm gonna go see if Maggie needs help with anything," she tells me, giving me a quick peck on the cheek and sauntering off towards the house.

I think her lips just set my face on fire. Right in front of Denise, too, like she don't give a damn who sees. I still ain't used to it, but I ain't gonna complain.

"Is this 'cause I tried to get you that stuff?" I question, ignoring my burning cheeks and wiping my greasy hands on the rag I keep in my pocket.

"Yeah," Denise admits. "And you remind me of someone I used to know.

"Well…" I trail off, taking the cake and stowing it in my pocket. "Hope it tastes better 'n it looks. 'Cause it looks like shit."

"Shit's still better than roadkill," she fires back. "Okay, maybe… just eat it."

I feel a little guilty when she walks away. I was an ass to her. I dunno why. Just don't wanna feel like I owe nobody nothin'. Maybe she did just wanna do something nice for me, though. Maybe. I'll eat the damn oat cake.

"Let's chew up some asphalt!" Abraham hollers, standing next to the door beside Adrienne.

The stragglers file inside. Maggie, Rick, Abraham. Adie snatches my hand and gently pulls me along with her. I close the door behind us and we're off. Rick's driving, Michonne seated shotgun. I'm on the bench, Adrienne nestled beside me, Abraham on her other side. Jesus is seated on the bench across from him next to Maggie and Glenn.

"Hey," Abraham blurts eventually, catching Glenn's attention. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," Glenn nods.

"When you were, uh… pourin' the Bisquick," Abraham starts, voice hushed as he crouches in the aisle before Glenn. "Were you tryin' to make pancakes?"

"Uh… yes?" Glenn says uncertainly.

He stares at Abraham blankly, not quite catching his drift. Adrienne, however, crows with laughter.

"Shut the fuck up, Abe," she chuckles, recognition dawning on Glenn's face.

"Oh," Glenn chuckles awkwardly, glancing at his sleeping wife. "Okay, um… it's something that we talked about, yeah. Why?"

"No, I just…" Abraham stutters, fumbling for words. "Well, given the precarious state of affairs on any given Sunday, I am damn near floored that you or anyone else would have the cojones to make a call like that."

Adrienne stiffens suddenly, wide eyes on Glenn, any trace of laughter gone from her face. Suddenly, her behavior last night makes perfect sense. I'd thought I'd done something wrong, that maybe I fucked up somewhere. Nah, she's afraid she's gonna end up knocked up. This realization hits me with startling clarity. Shit... it ain't like we got the resources to be careful. What the hell do I do? Unless… does she  _ want _ that? No… no, she can't… I can't,  _ we _ can't… no way in hell.

"I mean, well… we're tryin' to build something, me and her," Glenn explains softly, and it… kinda makes sense. They want a family. "All of us."

"For the record, I see rain comin', I'm wearin' galoshes," Abraham nods, then clarifies when not even Adie understands what the hell he's alluding to. "I double up."

"That is  _ the _ dumbest shit I've ever heard you say," Adrienne says, floored. "It's common goddamn knowledge you'll break 'em that way."

Common knowledge? I didn't know that shit. But why the hell would I? Guess it makes sense, though. Friction or whatever.

"And Rosita told me you were out!" She adds indignantly. "You  _ can't _ double up."

She asked Rosita for condoms? Christ. I feel the blush creeping up the back of my neck.

"Well, darlin', Rosita lied to you," Abraham announces triumphantly, leaning back in his seat. "And I've been doin' the two suit scoot for decades, never had to stop for repairs."

" _ Two suit scoot, _ " Adrienne mutters, annoyed, her head falling back against my chest. "Idiot."

Before a full blown argument about how prophylactics work can ensue, Rick is slowing the RV, brakes squealing. I part the blinds and peek out the window, taking in the debris on the road. An overturned car, walker parts still thrashing about in the undercarriage.

"Yo, Rick," I call. "What's goin' on?"

"We got a crash ahead," he informs me, slowing to a crawl. "Looks like it just happened."

"It's one of ours," Jesus cries, tearing out of the RV before Rick even brings it to a full stop.

We all pile out, Rick pulling his gun on Jesus as we survey the wreckage.

"If this is a trick, it won't end well for you," Rick promises.

"My people are in trouble," Jesus says insistently, truly worried for the first time since we met the guy. "They don't, we don't have a lot of fighters. I know how it looks, but I'll play it out. Can I borrow a gun?"

"No," I grunt, pointing to the ground. "We got tracks right here."

Adie thrusts her knife into each of the walkers imprisoned in the twisted metal framework of the car, then we're off. Following the tracks up the road a ways, the trail leading to a small, rundown building.

"They gotta be in there," Jesus says, all of us gathered outside the door.

"We movin' in or what?" Abraham questions, deferring to Rick.

"Hell, no," Adrienne snarls, peering around one corner of the building before crossing to check the other side.

"How do we know this ain't firecrackers in a trashcan?" I demand, striding past Jesus to check the windows.

"You don't," he admits.

"We'll get your people," Rick nods. "You're stayin' here with one of us."

"That's the deal," Michonne, predictably, backs him up.

"Will you stay?" Glenn murmurs, worried eyes on Maggie.

"Yeah," she assures him. "Y'all go, just be careful."

"Yeah," Rick says, binding Jesus' hands behind his back. "We're gonna be. Adie, stay with 'em. He tries anything…"

Adrienne nods, curls bobbing in time.

"Just hurry," Jesus pleads.

"You hear me whistle, one of you shoot 'im." Rick instructs, handing Jesus off to Adie.

"We will," Maggie promises.

With that, the rest of us head inside. I'm the last one in, and before I close the door, I catch myself stealing one last glance at Adrienne. She nods, meeting my gaze. The price we pay for loving someone… she ain't the only one afraid.

Once inside, we split up. Rick and Michonne one way, Glenn and I another, Abraham in another. We encounter two walkers in the hallway, taking them down with almost no effort at all before ducking through the first door on the right. There's a man, cowering in a corner behind a filing cabinet.

"Come on," Glenn urges. "We're with Jesus, let's go."

"I, I, I can't go with you," the man stammers. "I'm looking for my friend. He's close, and he's hurt from the crash."

The three of us barrel into the hallway to search for this friend. We ain't looking too long. Seems he ran afoul of Abraham. We come around a corner just in time to see Abraham grab a man by the collar and fling him against the wall, knife poised to strike. Must've startled him.

"C'mon, man, let's go," I hiss, Abraham coming to his senses.

We haul ass from the building, four more than we'd gone in. To my relief, both Adrienne and Maggie are just fine, Jesus evidently having been on good behavior. Less than ten minutes later, we're back on the road.

"Surprised no one came by and took off with the RV," Adrienne murmurs, dropping down beside me. "Way our luck's been lately."

Luck. What a bullshit word. After what seems like an eternity, we're here. We all pile out of the RV once more, taking in the fence surrounding Jesus's community. It don't look like much.

"That's us," Jesus nods. "That's the Hilltop."

"Wait," Adrienne holds up a hand. "Let me get this straight. Your name's Jesus and you live at the  _ Hilltop? _ Christ almighty."

Jesus shoots her a grin, then leads the way up the hill to his home. Jesus from Hilltop. It is kinda funny.


	73. Pleasure Doin' Business With You, George

**Chapter 73**

*Adrienne's POV*

"Stop right there!" A man hollers, just his torso visible above the wall that looks much more formidable up close.

God damn it, there are two of 'em. A guard on either side of the gate. Incredibly, they're armed with spears. They look like extras from fuckin' Medieval Times. I cock my gun, noting with delight that Abraham, Michonne, Glenn, Maggie, Daryl, and Rick have all whipped out their weapons as well. We've been through this shit a time or two.

"You gon' make us?" Daryl snaps.

"Jesus, what the hell is this?" One of the guards demands.

"Open the gates, Kal. Freddie's hurt," Jesus orders, then turns to address us. "Look, sorry about these guys. They get antsy standin' up there all day doing nothing."

"They give up the weapons," Kal snaps. "Then we'll open the gates."

"Why don't you come down here 'n get 'em?" Daryl snarls.

"Gentleman!" Hilltop's doctor, one of the men we'd brought back, steps forward. "Look, we vouch for these people, all right? They saved us out there!"

"Lower the spears," Jesus commands.

"Look, I'm not takin' any chances," Rick tells Jesus. "Tell your guy Gregory to come out here."

"No," Jesus flat refuses. "Don't you see what just happened? I'm letting you keep your guns. Look, we ran outta ammo months ago. I like you people. I trust you. Trust us."

"Trust is earned," I hiss.

Rick signals for us to stand down, though, and I begrudgingly lower my weapon.

"Open the gates, Kal," Jesus orders once more, and this time the gates in question swing wide open.

We file inside behind Jesus, taking in the scene before us. Several wooden shanties line each side of the red dirt trail down the middle of the community, livestock and garden boxes dotting the landscape before us. Several trailers line the east wall, people milling about as we walk through their home. An impressive old colonial building sits at the end of the trail, a structure roughly the size of a large apartment building, and it hits me now why I know this place. Barrington House. I came here with my class in the fourth grade. 

"There was a materials yard for a power company nearby," Jesus announces. "That's how we put up the walls. A lot of people came from a FEMA camp. Trailers came with them."

"How did people find out about this place?" Michonne questions.

"That's called Barrington House," Jesus points to the colonial. "The family that owned it gave it to the state in the forties. The state turned it into a living history museum-" 

"Thirties," I interrupt, all eyes suddenly on me. "The Barrington's  _ sold _ it to the state in the thirties to avoid bankruptcy."

"How do you know that?" Jesus questions.

"I grew up just outside Falls Church," I explain, suddenly quite self conscious. "Every school within 50 miles of this place used to come here for field trips. Fourth grade."

"Well, anyway, the place was running a long time before the modern world built up around it," Jesus continues. "I think people came here because they figured it'd keep running after the modern world broke down. Those windows up there let us see for miles in every direction. It's perfect for security. Come on, I'll show you inside."

We follow him into the building. It's just as gaudy and magnificent as I remember, all soaring ceilings and original woodwork, a massive staircase leading to an upper landing.

"Good gracious, Ignatius," Abraham breathes, his eyes flickering about the millions of dollars worth of art adorning the walls.

"Most of the rooms have been converted to living spaces," Jesus informs us. "Even the ones that weren't bedrooms."

"People live here and the trailers?" Rick questions, Jesus leading us to a parlor just off the entryway.

And here I mean parlor in the same way one could refer to Notre Dame cathedral as a church house. Everything in this place screams old money. My father had loved it here. He insisted on chaperoning. Mama was at a charity event and couldn't make it.

"We plan to build," Jesus announces. "There's babies being born."

Before our tour guide can offer anymore information on our surroundings or his people, a set of double doors just behind us fly open, revealing a man who must be Gregory, the leader of Hilltop. He's balding, mid to late 60's, clad in dress pants and a suit coat, the powder blue button down he's sporting beneath the jacket doing nothing to hide his paunch. I dislike him immediately.

"Jesus!" He exclaims, stepping into the room. "You're back. With guests."

"Everyone, this is Gregory," Jesus introduces while the man takes us all in, his evaluating gaze lingering on me slightly longer than would be considered polite or comfortable. "He keeps the trains running on time around here."

In other words, he thinks he's in charge and Jesus let's him.

"I'm the boss," Gregory grins.

Case in point.

"Well, I'm Rick," Rick says with a nod. "We have a community-"

"Why don't y'all go get cleaned up, hmm?" Gregory interrupts, dismissing Rick with a wave.

"We're fine," he says firmly.

"Jesus will show you where you can get washed up," Gregory insists. "Then come back down here when you're ready. It's hard to keep this place clean."

"Yeah," Rick nods. "Sure."

"Follow me," Jesus says, rolling his eyes behind Gregory's back.

"You clean up first," Rick murmurs to Maggie as we tromp up the stairs behind Jesus. "You talk to him."

"Why?" She questions, eyeing him.

"I shouldn't," Rick says curtly. "And you gotta start doin' these things."

*Daryl's POV*

I ain't sure who's gonna snap and kill this guy first, Rick or Adrienne. They both looked murderous when they disappeared into the washrooms to get  _ 'cleaned up'. _ I'm pacing back and forth, trying to hold it together in case one of 'em decides to redecorate this place with Gregory's blood spatter.

"How long you think Rick 'n Michonne been uggin' bumplies?" Abraham, the only other person remaining in the room, questions abruptly.

_ Uggin' bumplies? _ I know Adie'd get a kick outta that, and the thought of her laughter almost gets me. Almost.

"I dunno."

How the hell would I know that? Ain't my job to keep tabs on whose uggs are bumpling.

"You ever think about it?" Abraham questions, crossing towards me. "Settlin' down? You 'n Adie?"

"You think shit's settled?" I counter, knowing the other man ain't missing the blush on my ears.

Settling down, what, like marriage and shit? Nah… I ain't the type for all that. Ain't like she'd have me, anyway, would she? Adrienne Dixon. Yeah, right.

"I swear to god, if I could, I'd shit myself right now," Adrienne mutters, stomping into the room. "Just to spite that pompous old prick."

Abraham eyes me with a knowing look, sidling up to Adie.

"Somethin' botherin' you, darlin'?" He questions sarcastically.

"Obviously," she simpers, eyes on fire.

"Look, the moment you turn yourself into a human shit canon is the moment you achieve absolute perfection in my eyes," Abraham tells her seriously. "So I'm gonna need you to get on that, pronto."

Adrienne cracks, laughing despite herself, her eyes crinkling at the corners. Her laugh is one of my favorite sounds. Hell, all my favorite sounds belong to her anymore. Settle down… me and Adie. I could maybe be the type for all that. 

*Adrienne's POV*

I'd graciously volunteered to accompany Maggie for her talk with the grand poobah of Hilltop, but Rick wouldn't hear of it. Apparently, I have an attitude problem. Bullshit. I just have strong opinions. It's not my fault weak people can't handle it. In hindsight, after hearing how the meeting went down, it's probably a good thing I wasn't in there. I'd've decked his ass. Not only is he a pig, coming onto Maggie, calling her  _ honey, _ but Gregory apparently refuses to work with us. Says we don't have anything he needs. We came all this way, wasted fuel, energy,  _ bullets… _ for nothing.

"We  _ want _ to generate trade," Jesus insists. "Gregory does. But ammo isn't something we urgently need."

"Well, how's that?" Rick questions.

"The walls hold," Jesus says simply. "We just brought in more medicine. Gregory wants the best deal possible."

"Yeah?" Daryl growls. "Well, we want things, too."

"We need food," Rick states evenly. "We came all this way, we're gonna get it."

"I will talk to him," Jesus assures us. "And we will work this out."

"I'm sorry, but who's actually in charge here, Jesus?" I demand. "You keep sayin'  _ you'll _ talk to him,  _ you'll _ work things out… so either you have more power here than you've led us to believe or you're full of shit, which is it?"

"Circumstances  _ change, _ " he says imploringly, his eyes boring into mine. "We're doing well now, and you will next. I will make him understand that. Can you give me a few days?"

"We can," Michonne says, eyeing Rick.

"Yeah," Rick sighs, not quite as ready to give Jesus more of our time.

Before any more discussion can be had, there's a commotion outside and a man bursts into the house, Gregory emerging from his office to meet him.

"What's wrong?" Gregory demands.

"They're back," the man says, leading Gregory outside.

Who's back? We follow the men out the door, filing along behind Gregory as he approaches the three people who have, evidently, just arrived.

"Ethan, what happened to everybody else?" Gregory questions. "Where's Tim and Marsha?"

"They're dead," one of the men, presumably Ethan, replies harshly.

"Negan?" Gregory asks.

"Yeah," Ethan confirms.

"We had a deal," Gregory sputters.

"He said it wasn't enough," one of the other new arrivals, a man in a maroon sweater, informs him. "Was the drop light?"

"No," Gregory says, his tone implying that it absolutely was.

"They still have Craig," a woman clad in a beige cardigan standing beside sweater guy says.

"They said they'd keep him alive, return him to us, if I deliver a message to you," Ethan announces, inching closer to Gregory.

"So, tell me," Gregory prompts.

"I'm sorry," Ethan whispers, grabbing him by the shoulder and thrusting a knife into his gut.

Oh, what the fuck? Can't we ever go  _ anywhere _ without a damn fight? Maggie, Michonne, and Jesus tend to Gregory. Rick flies toward Ethan, tackling the much larger man to the ground. Sweater guy lunges for Rick, but I intercept him, knocking him on his ass with practiced precision. I land hard on his abdomen, but before I can pull my gun on him, he bucks me off and the two of us are back on our feet.

He swings at me, but I'm fast. I duck, engaging him in a bizarre sort of dance in which I twist, turn, dodge, and generally out maneuver every blow he attempts to land on my body. Suddenly, Abraham is between us, knocking me out of the way. I go careening into Daryl's body just as Abraham goes down, the sweatered man wrapping his hands around his neck. Daryl barrels over to the pair on the ground, roughly pulling the Hilltop man off of Abraham by the arm, the sickening crunch of breaking bones audible despite the chaos.

"Stay back!" Ethan roars, straddling Rick, knife to his throat. "Anybody who tries to stop me is killing my brother!"

I don't give a fuck about his brother. He's about to kill mine. I pull my gun, aiming it at Ethan's head.

"Drop it," I hiss, the man's desperate eyes meeting mine. "Or you'll be a dead man before that blade so much as  _ scratches _ him. Drop it!"

He doesn't get the chance to drop his weapon. Rick's taking full advantage of the distraction, plunging his own blade into the side of Ethan's neck. Deep crimson blood spurts from the man, spilling in time with his pulse as his heart pumps blood from his torn skin.

Rick gets to his feet, peering around at the terrified onlookers. It takes me a moment, but I realize they've probably never seen this kind of brutality before. Almost certainly not involving one of their own. Rick covered in blood for us is just Tuesday, for them… he's something straight out of a horror film.

"What?" Rick snaps.

"Ethan!" The guy with the broken arm roars, still on the ground at Daryl's feet. "You killed him!"

"Well, he tried to kill Gregory, then me," Rick points out.

The woman in the cardigan takes a swing at him, her first connecting to his bloody face with a wet thunk. Michonne lunges for the woman, knocking her to the ground. Hard.

"Don't!" Michonne snarls, looming over the woman.

"Drop it now!" Kal, the spear guy, orders.

"I don't think I will."

"Make me."

Rick and I speak at the same time, and I glance over at him, noticing he's drawn his weapon as well.

"Everyone!" Jesus cries, placing himself in front of Rick and me, effectively blocking our shots should we choose to fire. "This is over! Ethan was our friend, but let's not pretend he was anything more than a coward who attacked us. He did this. And these people stopped him."

"What can I do?" Rick questions, clearly wrestling with himself, debating whether or not to just shoot Kal.

"Put the gun away," Jesus says firmly. "You've done enough."

Rick lowers his weapon, Jesus turning to address him more directly. I keep my gun raised, not ready to be defenseless just yet.

"You need to know that things aren't as simple as they might seem," Jesus says, breathing heavily. "Just give me some time."

Alrighty then. I tuck my gun back into my waistband while Jesus and Dr. Carson turn their attention to Gregory. I turn and notice Abraham still on the ground about the same time Daryl does. The two of us head over to check on him.

"Hey, man," Daryl grunts, Abe's eyes flickering towards his outstretched hand. "You good?"

"Yeah," he nods, smiling softly. "I'm better 'n all right."

"God damn it, he's delirious," I mutter, reaching for his other hand and helping Daryl pull the giggling man to his feet and following the rest of our people inside.

Jesus shows us to Gregory's office, where he instructs us to wait for his return. Daryl takes up a post at one window, Maggie at another. Glenn stands near Daryl, and Rick leans up against Gregory's desk. Michonne and Abraham sink into a couple chairs and I opt to sit on the floor, leaning back against Abraham's legs. And we wait, twenty mostly silent minutes passing before Jesus is back.

"Dr. Carson was able to patch Gregory up," he announces. "He's in pain, but he'll live."

"So what happens now?" Michonne questions.

"Things like that don't usually happen here," Jesus says calmly. "But, uh… it's settled."

"We heard the name Negan," Rick says, crossing towards Jesus. "A while back, Daryl and Abraham had a run-in with his men. Who is he?"

Negan's men, the handful of bikers Daryl, Abe, and Sasha had encountered on their way back to Alexandria after the quarry. Daryl blew them up. Literally. With the RPG.

"Negan's the head of a group of people he calls the Saviors," Jesus informs us. "As soon as the walls were built, the Saviors showed up. They met with Gregory on behalf of their boss… they made a lot of demands, even more threats. And he killed one of us. Rory. He was 16 years old. They beat him to death right in front of us. Said we needed to understand, right off the bat."

"And you all just… let them?" I question, horrified.

"Gregory's not exactly good at confrontation," Jesus explains. "He's not the leader I would've chosen, but he helped make this place what it is, and the people like him."

"He made the deal," Maggie finishes for Jesus, eyeing Rick.

"Half of everything," Jesus confirms. "Our supplies, our crops, our livestock… it goes to the Saviors."

"And what do you get in return?" Glenn asks.

"They don't attack this place," Jesus says simply. "They don't kill us."

"Why not jus' kill them?" Daryl demands.

"Most of the people here don't even know how to fight, even if we had ammo," Jesus shakes his head hopelessly.

"Well… how many of 'em are there?" I question, getting to my feet.

"We don't know," Jesus admits. "We've seen groups as big as 20."

"Now, hold up," Daryl grunts. "So, they show up, they kill a kid, 'n you give 'em  _ half _ of everything? These dicks just got a good story. The bogeyman, he ain't shit."

"Well, how do you know?" Jesus counters, cocking his head.

"A month ago, we took his guys out PDQ," Abraham informs him. "Left 'em in pieces 'n puddles."

"We can take 20," I murmur, catching Daryl's eyes. "Take 'em out a group at a time."

"You know what?" Daryl nods. "We'll do it. If we go get your man back, kill Negan, take out his boys, will you hook us up? We want food, medicine, and one of them cows."

"Confrontation's never been somethin' we've had trouble with," Rick points out, nodding his agreement.

"I'll take it to Gregory," Jesus says, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

With that, he's off to deliver our offer to Gregory. Rick heads onto the balcony just outside the office, Michonne, Glenn, Maggie, and I filing out behind him.

"They have food," he points out. "We don't."

"We don't have a whole lotta anything," I sigh.

"Except us," Rick counters. "What we can do. This  _ is  _ the trade."

"It's gonna cost us somethin'," Maggie murmurs, and we know she's right.

Killing in self defense is one thing. Killing for vengeance or to protect the people you love, that's different than what this is. This is contracted murder. Still, these guys killed a kid. Hilltop couldn't do anything about it, but we can.

"Gregory's up," Jesus announces, stepping out onto the balcony. "He wants to talk."

Rick nods, making to follow Jesus back inside to wherever Gregory is stashed away, licking his wounds.

"To Maggie," Jesus adds, stopping Rick with a raise of his hand. "He wants to talk to Maggie."

"You got this," Glenn says with a nod at his wife.

"Not alone," Rick says adamantly, turning to address Maggie. "Deanna was right about you. But I don't want you alone with him. Take Adrienne."

Maggie glances at me questioningly and I nod my assent, moving to follow her and Jesus inside.

"I'm sorry in advance," Jesus says sincerely. "Gregory can be a real prick."

"I know," Maggie says.

"So can I, though," I point out, Jesus and Maggie both chuckling.

Jesus leads us down the hallway a short ways, gesturing to the door at the end of the corridor and leaving us to it.

"You ready?" I murmur, glancing at Maggie.

She squares her shoulders and marches straight for Gregory's door, giving it a perfunctory three knocks before breezing her way in, not bothering to wait for his response.

"Come in," Gregory says anyway, not about to be one upped.

I close the door softly behind us, turning to take in the room. It's furnished much like the rest of the house. Grotesquely opulent. The room is dark, save for two table lamps casting a soft glow upon Gregory's bed bound form.

"Ah, Erin," he says brightly, Maggie shooting me a knowing glance. "I didn't expect to see you here."

I smile demurely, not bothering to correct him. Two can play this game. I'm not giving him shit.

"Sorry for the gloom," he waves his hand around vaguely. "They have me on these antibiotics that make me sensitive to the sunlight. This is  _ agony. _ It's like somebody's twisting my insides with a cement mixer."

I fight the urge to laugh. Agony. He has no idea. What a fuckin' dweeb.

"It could've been worse," Maggie points out, standing near the foot of the bed. "You're lucky we were here. Jesus told you about our offer?"

"He did," Gregory confirms. "What makes you think you can do what we haven't done?"

"We've handled people like Negan," Maggie informs him.

"How?" He questions derisively.

"Killin' 'em," I say, shrugging nonchalantly.

"We can get your man back," Maggie adds.

"I dunno if Craig's worth the trouble," Gregory muses. "I mean, it's his brother who did this."

"He was fightin' to save someone he loves," Maggie points out, crossing her arms. "He was afraid."

"That makes him weak," Gregory counters. "Frankly, I dunno if I want him back in our gene pool."

"My dad used to tell me forgiveness takes more strength than anger," Maggie informs him, and with a pang I remember Hershel.

"Yeah, I guess," Gregory sighs. "He's a hell of a cook. Makes these amazing baked eggs with green tomatoes."

"You give us supplies, we'll save Craig and take care of Negan and the Saviors," Maggie offers, not entertaining his small talk any further. "Permanently."

Gregory lets out a droll little chuckle, and I'm ready to strangle the man. He reminds me of my dad. So sure he has all the answers, that he's untouchable. The incessant need to dominate.

"I'm sorry, I find this whole conversation pretty funny," he says. "I mean, you balked when I proposed that your people work for our supplies, but now… isn't that exactly what's happening here? See, I had leverage and I used it. See? It wasn't personal."

"Yes," Maggie says calmly. "We need food. You have it. We're willin' to work for it."

"Then I'll get supplies for your people," Gregory says triumphantly.

"Good," Maggie says, catching my eyes before turning back to the smug little man.

"I'll talk to Jesus, he'll make the arrangements," Gregory announces. "See, this was  _ fun. _ Exciting."

I'm fuming. What a vile, lowlife, steaming, shit for brains pig. Maggie leans forward, hands resting on the footboard of the bed as she regards Gregory cooly.

"Half," she says.

"Excuse me?" Gregory raises his eyebrows.

" _ Half _ of what you have," she explains, the faintest hint of a smirk playing on her lips. "I saw what happened out there. Negan's expectin' more supplies from this place. And more and more. And if it keeps goin' like that, pretty soon you won't have anything left. What happens then? Without ammo, without fighters… you'd be a dead man. So half of everything you have, right now… or the deal's off."

God damn, she's good. It takes all I have in me not to do a goddamn victory jig. Gregory's sweating bullets. He's got nothing. We win.

"You see?" She asks sweetly. "I have leverage."

"Congratulations," Gregory says, clapping defeatedly. "You have yourself a deal. You want anything else? Kidney, maybe?"

"Not that…" Maggie simpers. "But I do want somethin'. While your people stock my people with our half of your supplies… I'd like an appointment with Dr. Carson."

"Whatever," Gregory says flippantly, attempting not to sound like a sore loser and failing.

Maggie straightens up and crosses towards me, the two of us heading out the door, hardly able to contain our glee. It's about time things start to work out.

"Pleasure doin' business with you, George," I simper, closing the door before he can respond.

Maggie glances over at me, and we practically sprint past Jesus on our way back to Gregory's office, collapsing into a fit of giggles the moment we're behind closed doors, our people staring at us like we've lost it.

"Did you see his face?" She wheezes, clutching my arm in hers.

I nod happily, wiping the tears from my eyes as the two of us sober up.

"You gon' tell us what the hell happened in there?" Daryl demands.

"Madam President over here got us a pretty sweet deal," I inform him smugly, turning to Glenn. "Oh, uh, Mr. Rhee? Would you like to accompany your wife to her appointment? Think it's about time y'all got a look at baby, don't you?"

Glenn's eyes widen and Maggie nods, taking his hands in hers. They waste no time, scurrying from the room.

"By the way, Adrienne Junior's a gender neutral name!" I holler out the door as the two of them make their way down the hallway. "AJ! Think about it!"

"I was thinkin' Rick Junior," Rick announces with a grin. "Or… Rickette."

"Rickette Rhee?!" I explode, Michonne cackling at my horror. "We are  _ not _ naming that baby Rickette."

"Ain't up to you," Daryl points out, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Sorry, Adie," Michonne chuckles. "Maybe next time it'll be your turn."

What? The room goes quiet, my eyes flickering immediately to Daryl. He's glaring at the floor, ears flushing scarlet. Well, this is uncomfortable.


	74. Nice Jacket

**Chapter 74**

*Daryl's POV*

"Look, I'm sorry," Michonne murmurs while we gather our half of Hilltop's supplies. "It just slipped out."

I nod, eyes ahead. I know it was just an offhand comment and didn't mean nothin', but I feel real uncomfortable about it. Adie does, too, if her fleeing the room shortly after Michonne's remark is any indication. It ain't like we're a secret, but still… our business ain't their business. And the baby thing is just a little too close to home right now.

Michonne wanders off, presumably to gather more vegetation from the people of Hilltop. I fall into step beside Abraham, the two of us approaching Rick, who is having a conversation with one of them pricks we fought earlier. The one with the busted wrist. He deserved it, taking a swing at Adie like that.

"Jesus said you've been takin' supplies to Negan since the beginning," Rick informs him. "We're gonna get Craig back."

"Only way to get Craig back is to bring 'em Gregory's head," the man argues.

"Is that an option?" Adrienne questions, breezing past with a basket full of corn and disappearing into the RV.

"Ignore her," Rick says wearily, casting an annoyed look in her general direction. "We're gonna get Craig back."

"How?" The man demands.

"We need to know what you know about Negan's compound," Rick tells him. "We need your help. We need you to come."

The man turns his head, eyeing me warily while he contemplates whether or not he's gonna be a pain in the ass. His eyes find Rick's again and he nods.

"Yeah," he agrees readily enough, heading into the RV.

"What the hell are you doin'?" Adrienne's muffled, disembodied voice floats from the vehicle.

Abraham snorts, he and I exchanging a glance.

"Should we go buffer or let her make him squirm some?" He asks with a chuckle.

Nah, I don't want her alone with that prick. Abe and I trail after the man into the RV. Adie's already seated in the corner of one of the benches, glowering at the Hilltop man beneath her lashes. This should be a fun trip home.

Jesus and Michonne come bounding up the steps, followed shortly by Rick, Glenn, and Maggie. We're off. Jesus, Maggie, Glenn, and Michonne seat themselves on the bench across from Abraham, Adie, and me. Rick takes the wheel, the Negan expert sitting passenger side. Not two seconds after we've left the gates of Hilltop, Adrienne's head is resting against my shoulder. She ain't slept yet, and I'm hopin' we can get home just this one time without having to take any detours so she can get some rest.

"Falls Church, huh?" Jesus questions conversationally, Adie stiffening, her head snapping back up. "I've been there. It's a pretty place to grow up."

" _ Falls Church? _ " The other Hilltop guy demands, whipping around to eye Adie contemptuously. "Let me guess. Daddy was loaded?"

"Shut up, Andy," Jesus orders, rolling his eyes.

"No, seriously," Andy presses. "You had to have been filthy rich to live there."

"A cage is a cage," Adie spits. "Doesn't matter how expensive it is."

She leans back against me and the tense conversation fizzles. A few minutes later, Michonne is thrusting a slip of paper into my hands. It's a sonogram. Maggie and Glenn's kid. I hold it low so Adrienne can see, and she traces the tiny clump of cells at the center of the slightly grainy image with her fingertip, her face unreadable, a single tear sliding down her cheek. Her hand drops to her lap and I pass the photo to Abraham.

"It's got your eyes, Glum," Adie quips, reaching up to swipe the tear away, chuckling softly.

She's quiet, now. I'd give anything to climb into her head for a minute, just to see what she's thinking. She shifts on the bench, turning her body away from the others and curling into me. Ain't too long at all before her breathing changes, her body growing heavy with sleep.

"She all right?" Abraham murmurs, eyeing her with concern.

"She ain't slept in almost two days," I tell him quietly. "Think it's catchin' up to her."

He seems to accept this, the rest of our trip going by without much further in the way of conversation. Idle chit chat, surface level bullshit. Adrienne sleeps the entire way back, her eyes fluttering open just as we pull up to the gates.

"Mornin', sleepin' beauty," Abraham chuckles, watching Adie stare around in confusion, slowly getting her bearings.

"Suck my nuts," she mutters groggily, flipping Abraham the bird.

"And she's back," Michonne grins, pulling her to her feet.

*Adrienne's POV*

I am not pleased. I hadn't intended to pass the fuck out the whole way home. Irresponsible. Once we've dropped off the supplies from Hilltop at Olivia's, we head to the church so Rick can inform our people of the deal we've just made. We're gonna have to fight. Looking around, I'm not too sure most are ready for this. The original Alexandrians… they're still too soft for this world.

"Now, we can work with the Hilltop," Rick announces. "Maggie hammered out a deal. We're gettin' food. Eggs, butter, fresh vegetables. But they're not just givin' it away. These Saviors… they almost killed Sasha, Daryl, and Abraham on the road. Now, sooner or later, they would've found us. Just like those Wolves did, just like Jesus did. They would've killed someone or some of us. And then they would try to own us. And we would try to stop them. But by then… in that kind of fight,  _ low on food, _ we could lose. This is the only way to be sure, as sure as we can get, that we win. And we have to win. We do this for the Hilltop, it's how we keep this place. It's how we feed this place. This needs to be a group decision. If anybody objects, here's your chance to say your piece."

For a moment, it seems as though we've reached a unanimous decision. No one objects. Not even-

"You're sure we can do it?" Morgan questions, rising. "We can beat 'em?"

Fuck.

"What this group has done, what we've learned, what we've become, all of us…" Rick trails off. "Yes, I'm sure."

"Then all we have to do is just tell 'em that," Morgan suggests, nodding.

"Well, they don't compromise," Rick counters.

"This isn't a compromise," Morgan argues. "It's a choice you give 'em. It's a way out, for them and for us."

"Are you insane?" I blurt. "They beat a  _ kid _ to death to make a point. They don't know we're here yet, invitin' 'em over for tea 'n cakes isn't an option."

"We try and talk to the Saviors, we give up our advantage, our safety," Rick agrees. "No, we have to come for them before they come for us. We can't leave them alive."

"Where there's life, there's possibility," Morgan insists.

"Of them hitting us," Rick fires back.

"Hey, we're not trapped in this!" Morgan says adamantly. "None of you are trapped in this."

"Morgan… they always come back," Rick says, eyes pleading with the man to understand the stakes.

"Come back when they're dead, too," Morgan points out.

"Yeah, we'll stop them," Rick says flatly. "We have before."

"I'm not talkin' about the walkers," Morgan spits.

"Morgan wants to talk to them first," Rick says, addressing the group once more. "I think that would be a mistake, but it's not up to me. I'll talk to the people still at home. I'll discuss it with the people on guard now, too, but who else wants to approach the Saviors, talk to them first?"

"What happened here, we won't let that happen again," Aaron says, standing. "I won't."

He exchanges a glance with Morgan, the two men nodding in mutual understanding before Aaron returns to his seat. Agreeing to disagree.

"Looks like it's settled," Rick says, eyes sweeping the group for any sign of further disagreement. "We know exactly what this is. We don't shy from it, we live. We kill them all. We don't all have to kill. But if people are gonna stay here, they do have to accept it."

With that, he makes his exit. It's settled. We're doing this. Doesn't seem anyone's too happy about it, not even my own. Not that we should be proud of the things we have to do, but… you see a threat, you eliminate the threat. Simple. And although I don't feel guilty… there's a part of me that wishes I did. 

I follow Rick outside, Daryl right behind me. The sun is beginning to set, just barely visible as it slowly sinks behind the wall. Daryl trails along behind me as I make my way to Carol's porch swing. The two of us sink down onto it, rocking idly in silence. I don't know why I feel this sudden weight in the pit of my stomach. I don't feel guilty. I don't, but… maybe that makes me the monster.

"Are you okay with all this?" I murmur softly, snaking my arm through Daryl's.

"Are you?" He counters, eyeing me curiously.

"Yeah, actually," I tell him honestly. "But I guess I'm not okay that I'm okay with it? I just feel like… like I  _ should _ feel guilty, but I don't and I can't make myself. You, you… you see a threat, you eliminate the threat. It's simple…"

I trail off, and Daryl is silent. I know he's just thinking, sorting his thoughts before telling me how he feels, but I'm holding my breath.

"It is," he says finally, nodding. "But simple don't mean easy."

I sigh, leaning forward and placing my head in my hands.

"C'mon."

He takes me gently by the arm, pulling me to my feet, and the two of us head next door to Rick's, meeting him and a few of the others in the kitchen just as he's sitting Andy down at the dining table, armed with a blue sharpie and several blank sheets of paper.

"Describe it," Rick prompts, Andy hastily drawing a simple diagram of Negan's compound.

"Rectangular building, big satellites on it," Andy says, scribbling furiously.

"Any windows?" Rick questions.

"I don't remember any," Andy tells him. "I think they made it so there's only one way in."

"Guards outside?" Rick asks, eyeing the rough outline taking shape before us.

"Yeah," Andy nods, marking them on the diagram. "Two of them, at least."

"And you don't know how many people they have?" Michonne questions, sighing heavily.

"No," Andy snaps defensively. 

"You wanna rethink that tone?" I hiss, still pissed off at his earlier commentary about my financial status growing up and already out of patience.

"Uh, I mean, no," Andy softens. "I saw a place where they stored food. It wasn't that big, so…"

"You've been inside?" Rick demands.

"Yeah," Andy confirms. "They had us load in supplies one time."

"Hmm," Glenn grunts, slapping a fresh sheet of paper down in front of Andy. "What do you remember?"

"Not much," Andy mutters, sketching out the details he does recall.

"And you didn't see any other rooms?" Maggie questions.

"No, it's a big place," Andy informs her. "This is the hallway I saw. There is more."

"And every time, they had you bring things into here?" Michonne presses, tapping the square outline of a room Andy had marked as a pantry.

"Jesus…" Andy sighs, quickly becoming overwhelmed. "We brought a couple spears for them. Two of the Saviors took 'em down this hallway. Now, they must've done something with them because they didn't come back with them."

"Armory, probably," I suggest. "We take the armory, that place is ours."

"That's how we end it," Glenn nods.

"That's how Carol ended it here," Maggie agrees.

"But we don't know if they have an armory or where it even is," Andy points out.

"Well, we got a lotta good guesses," Daryl counters, examining the pages on the table. "We've done more with less."

"We go in at night, while they're sleeping," Rick says heavily, already feeling the guilt of what we're about to do.

"The guards won't be sleeping," Andy says flatly. "Like I said, I think there's only one way in and there's no way to bust through that door without waking up the rest of them."

"What if… what if we had Gregory's head?" I question, six wary pairs of eyes snapping to me. "I mean… not Gregory's actual _head_ head, but a head we could pass off as Gregory's?"

"They'd open up for us, let us walk right in," Rick nods. "They want a head… we're gonna give it to 'em."

"There's bound to be a walker somewhere around here that fits Gregory's description, he's… generic enough," I muse. "We find that son of a bitch, hack off its head, and we've got ourselves a spare key."

"You terrify me," Jesus eyes me, his lips curving into a small smile.

"You get used to it after a while," Glenn shrugs.

"Get some sleep," Rick orders. "All of you. We head out, first light. This is gonna work."

*Daryl's POV*

This is gonna work. We left at dawn, taking a small caravan out to hunt for walkers. Adie's idea is insane, but it's smart and it's gonna work. We're all stopped on the side of the road, listening while Rick reiterates a few details for us. Didn't take long to find a walker that looked enough like Gregory. We're gonna have to trim the hair, the beard… but it's gonna be dark, and the sorry sumbitch will pass for Hilltop's leader.

"We're gonna take a look around, try to get a feel for how many people are in there," Rick announces. "We like how it looks, we go in. A coupla hours before dawn. The guards outside'll be tired. Everyone inside'll be sleeping. We don't like what we see, we head back, make a new plan. They don't know who we are. We'll keep Jesus in the shadows. This is how we eat.  _ This is how we eat. _ We roll out at midnight."

He stalks off, rounding the RV to see how Jesus and Andy are coming along with the head. Every face I see is grim, even Adie and Abraham. Those two usually welcome a fight, relish in it, but I guess slaughtering men in their sleep ain't much of a fight to begin with. This is gonna be a long ass night.

*Adrienne's POV*

This has been a long ass night. We didn't see much during the day, just a couple changings of the guard. There could be 50 men in there, for all we know. We're going in. This is how we eat. How Carl eats, how Judith eats, how Maggie and her unborn child eat… there's no turning back, not now. I scratch at my itching scalp. Rick had insisted both Abe and I cover our heads, deeming our flaming locks too conspicuous. Abe is sporting a do rag, but I got stuck with the arduous task of piling my hair on top of my head and tucking it beneath a knit beanie.

I wait anxiously, watching from the shadows while the two assholes at the door examine the decoy head Andy has just presented. After a few moments, they seem to accept it as legitimate, one of them heading inside, presumably to fetch Craig, while the other remains out here to keep an eye on Andy.

Unfortunately for that guy, his eyes should've been on his back. Daryl steps from the darkness, slitting the guard's throat, then plunging his blade into his skull with lethal precision. It's time. Abe, Glenn, Heath, and I all emerge from our various places, sprinting silently towards the dead man. I pass a handgun to Andy, then help my boys move the body and retreat back into the shadows to wait for guard number two's return.

"Well, well, well," guard two smirks, emerging from the building with a man I can only assume is Craig, seemingly oblivious to the absence of his buddy. "Look who it is."

Soon as he's close enough, Michonne creeps out from behind the hedge near the wall, running him through with her katana. Rick pulls the keys off guard two's body, tossing them to Daryl as Andy takes off with Craig. Just like that, we're in. Rick, Daryl, Michonne, and I instinctively fall into step with each other, and I can't help from thinking this is a fucking bizarre double date. The rest of the group break into pairs. Abe and Sasha, Aaron and Rosita, Glenn and Heath. Jesus, Carol, Maggie, Tara, and Gabriel are posted in two groups outside the fence surrounding the compound, guarding the road should any Saviors come along.

"Check the doors," Rick whispers. "Find the arsenal. Take 'em out."

Looking around, this place doesn't seem like much of a home. It's cold, industrial. People live here? Something feels off about that. This feels more like army barracks than somewhere a community has settled. I follow Rick into the first room we come across, two sleeping men inside. I don't hesitate, plunging my knife into the head of the man nearest the door. Rick takes a moment, steeling himself before running his blade through the other man's temple.

Again, the thought crosses my mind that I should feel guilty. But I still don't. I have no sympathy for these men who would take part in or even enable the murder of a child. Turning a blind eye, remaining silent... it's the same as committing the crime yourself. We work our way through the building, Rick, Daryl, Michonne, and I taking out nearly a dozen men before all hell breaks loose. Someone's pulled a fire alarm. We've been caught.

"Maggie!" I cry, eyes widening.

The alarms are gonna draw walkers right to her. She and Carol are out there alone. God damn it!

"Go!" Rick snarls. "Go!"

I grab Daryl's hand and squeeze, just for a moment. His eyes meet mine and I hope like hell he understands everything I'm trying to say in the fraction of a second we have before he and I have to separate. I love him. Desperately. He nods and we let go, running in opposite directions. I can't think about him now. I have to trust. So I fly down the hallway, spraying bullets as I go, miraculously making it outside without so much as a scratch.

I tear into the trees towards the stretch of road where Maggie and Carol are stationed. I reach them, relief flooding my body. They're safe. They're fine. Then I see the man emerging from the woods, gun raised. Carol shoots him in the arm before he can fire, Maggie rushing forward to finish the job. Suddenly, someone grabs me from behind.

"Drop your gun and I won't hurt them," a woman's voice hisses into my ear, the barrel of a gun resting against my temple, her hand clapped over my mouth.

I have no choice. I drop the gun.

"Good," the woman simpers, then shouts to Carol and Maggie. "Stop! Or she's dead."

Carol and Maggie whirl around, eyes widening as they take in the scene before them. Me, with a gun to my head. Two other women emerging from the shadows. I try to tell them with my eyes. Finish this. Don't give in. Kill them before they kill you. Eliminate the threat.

"Guns, knives on the ground right now," the woman behind me commands, and they obey. Damn it.

"Nice jacket," an older lady simpers, eyeing Maggie's outfit.

"For a murderous bitch," the third woman sneers.

"Well, we'll take it off her before we shoot her," the woman behind me announces.

Christ. How the hell do we get outta this?


	75. Exactly The Same Boat

**Chapter 75**

*Daryl's POV*

Dawn's breaking by the time we're finished. Heath and Tara took off for their run, all we got left to do is loot all them guns Glenn and Heath found in the armory. Just gonna do one more sweep around the perimeter. Knowing Adie, if she made it to Carol and Maggie, they're a few miles out by now, waiting for us back at the RV. She wouldn't risk bringing Maggie closer. If she made it. She had to. If she didn't…

I don't have time to finish that thought before the roar of an engine cuts through the air. Oh, hell no. That's  _ my _ bike.

"Son of a bitch!" I snarl, hurling myself at the one guy we missed.

Rosita shoots him down and the bike goes flying across the field without him on it, but he ain't dead. Not yet. I tackle him to the ground before he can get up, punching him hard in the face.

"Where'd you get the bike?" I roar, Rick materializing behind me and pointing his gun at the man's face.

"Just do it!" The man snarls, spitting blood. "Like you did everyone else, right?"

"Lower your gun, prick," a woman's voice crackles from the radio near the man's head. "You, with the Colt Python."

Someone's watching us.

"All of you lower your weapons right now," she orders.

I get to my feet, pulling my gun and searching desperately for any sign of a living person, anywhere anyone could be hiding. I can't see shit.

"Come on out," Rick murmurs into the walkie. "Let's talk."

"We're not coming out, but we will talk."

We. Son of a bitch, how many are there?

"We've got a Carol, a Maggie, and an Adrienne," she announces. "I'm thinking that's something you wanna chat about."

_ Fuck. _ Adrienne… there's a sick sensation in my body, like the top of my head is falling through my ribcage, like I'm turning inside out.  _ Adrienne. _

*Adrienne's POV*

These people aren't gonna kill us. If that were the case, the head bitch would've done it by now. It's dawn, and we're standing hidden in the trees outside the fence surrounding Negan's compound, the woman who appears to be in charge peering through a set of binoculars. I can't see shit from here. Suddenly, the roar of an engine sounds, followed immediately by gunshots.

"What the hell was that?" The older woman demands, pausing in her efforts to staunch the flow of blood from the man Carol had shot.

"It's Primo," boss woman tells her. "Damn it, they've got 'im. Gimme the walkie."

"Babe, what's happenin'?" The injured man questions, but she ignores him.

"Lower your gun, prick," she hisses. "You, with the Colt Python. All of you lower your weapons right now."

Colt Python? That's Rick's gun. He made it out. God damn it, I wish I could  _ see. _

"Come on out," Rick's voice crackles over the walkie. "Let's talk."

"How many we got?" One of the other women demands.

"Eight in sight," boss woman says.

Eight. Which eight?  _ Which eight?! _ I want to scream. The only reason I'm not fighting this is Maggie. I can't be completely sure they won't kill us, and I'll protect Maggie, and the life inside her, at all costs.

"Too many," she decides.

"No, we can take 'em," the injured man insists. "We took more."

"We're not coming out," boss woman says firmly into the radio. "But we will talk."

She drops the walkie and binoculars, turning to eye us coldly over her shoulder.

"Names," she demands, none of us budging. "Names!"

"I'm Maggie," Maggie says flatly. "She's Carol, that's Adrienne."

"We've got a Carol, a Maggie, and an Adrienne," boss woman says into the walkie triumphantly, once again raising the binoculars to her eyes. "I'm thinking that's something you want to chat about. Now, we're gonna work this out right now, and it's going to go our way."

"You can see we have one of yours," Rick's reply comes, static and distorted. "We'll trade."

"I'm listening," the woman says.

"First I wanna talk to Maggie, Carol, and Adrienne," Rick says insistently. "Make sure they're all right."

"I'm gonna put you on," the woman says to Carol, approaching with the radio. "You say you're fine. I'll know if you try anything else."

"Rick, it's Carol," Carol says into the walkie nestled in the woman's outstretched hand. "I'm, I'm fine, but-"

"Now you," the woman scoffs, moving on to Maggie.

"Rick, it's Maggie. We're all okay," Maggie says flatly. "We'll figure this-"

"Shut up," the woman snaps, thrusting the radio into my face next.

"This is Adrienne," I sigh into the walkie, resigned. "I'm  _ swell. _ "

"You have your proof," the woman barks into the radio. "Let's talk."

"All right, this is the deal right here," Rick's voice crackles. "Let 'em go, you can have your guy back and live."

"Three for one, that's not much of a trade," The woman counters.

"You don't have another choice," Rick fires back. "Or you woulda done somethin' about it already."

"We have to get 'im back," the injured guy points out.

"Primo can take care of himself," boss woman replies, unconcerned.

"He can patch me up!" The man insists. "I need 'im, thanks to that bitch."

My blood boils. I haven't seen Carol look this way in a damn long time. She's truly afraid, real tears in her eyes.

"You've lost your balls, Paula," The man continues, glaring at boss woman. "Shoulda shot her in the head so they could hear her die."

"You even  _ breathe _ in her direction-"

"You are in no position to make threats," Paula cuts me off, then addresses the man. "If you could just shut up, I'll solve this."

"Then make the deal or we go in," the man says belligerently.

"She said shut up, so shut it!" The older woman snaps. "You should be glad she doesn't have a sack of gonads to trip over."

This team is about as dysfunctional as they come. We've got that going for us, at least. Won't be long before they unravel. We can take 'em.

"Look, I know you're talkin' it over," Rick's voice crackles. "It's a fair trade. Just come out, we do this, we all walk away."

"Smug prick," one of the other women hisses. "He must think we're stupid."

"That's a good thing," Paula smirks. 

"Do we have a deal?" Rick demands.

"I'll get back to you," Paula says breezily.

Then our jackets are pulled over our heads and we're being herded. I'm trying to think what Daryl would do, keep track of where we're going, at least which direction. I think we're headed east, but they're walking us in circles. Smart. Eventually we hit asphalt. We're on the road, being shoved into the backseat of a car, wrists bound with duct tape. Gagged. When I get my hands on these sons of bitches... we drive for a while, Paula snarling nonsense into the radio. None of it makes sense, but the gist of it is we're being taken to a safehouse.

Sure enough, the car stops and we're pulled roughly to our feet and marched into a building of some sort. Industrial. Some kind of warehouse, I think, but I can't see a damn thing beyond the dingy, concrete floor. Once we've been herded through the hallways and into a room, Paula shoves me to the ground and I can see again. I have no idea what this place is. They've separated the three of us as much as they can, each seated against different walls. We can't reach each other. The room we're in is cold, bare… tile walls, two small windows, concrete floor, exposed pipes… nothing we can use, at least not until our hands are free.

"You're wondering if there's a way outta this," Paula observes, taking in my wandering eyes while she binds my legs together. "There isn't. Not unless I say so."

Gunfire erupts from somewhere within the building, the older woman calling for backup. Good. I hope she gets eaten. Bitch.

"I want to kill you all right now," Paula announces, backing from the room. "It's taking all I have not to, so go ahead, I dare you, try something. Just see what happens."

With that, she scurries out the door to assist her comrades. I hope she gets eaten, too. The moment the door closes behind Paula, Maggie is sawing away at her binds, frantically dragging the tape around her wrists against the brick outcropping she's seated against. Carol has spotted a rosary on the floor, presumably having fallen from the body of the walker Paula had taken out when we were herded into this room, and is using her feet to pull the beads towards her hands.

The wall I'm against is flat, not a single sharp edge in sight. I flatten myself onto the floor, lying on my back and rolling across the room to Maggie. I sit up and get to work, sawing away at my own restraints against the corner of her wall. Suddenly, the distant gunfire stops, leaving only silence. Fuck, fuck, fuck, they're coming back. I roll back to my place, sitting upright against the wall.

Maggie and Carol are back in place, too, but something's wrong. Something's wrong with Carol. Maggie and I exchange an alarmed glance, Carol's tear-filled eyes widening as her breaths become ragged, violent. She's having some kind of… episode. It looks real. We've gotta get that gag off her. If I can just-

"When's the last time anyone checked this place?" Paula demands, she and her cohorts bursting into the room.

"It was fine a month ago!" One of the women snaps, the one with dark hair.

"Sweetie, that was a month ago," the older woman retorts as Paula drops the injured man unceremoniously to the floor. "Shit hards quick. The guns've gone bye-bye, the food's gone bye-bye, 'n we got growlers up 'n down the halls."

"Means people can get through, too," the man observes.

They're ignoring Carol, whose breath is becoming increasingly labored. That gag is blocking her airway, she keeps on like this and she'll pass out. Maggie and I scream as best we can around our own gags, trying to get Carol's attention while the group of assholes around us continue to bicker. It's just a matter of time before their team falls apart, but right now we have to get Carol under control or when that happens, we're not gonna make it outta here. Finally, Paula stalks towards Maggie, yanking her gag from her mouth.

"What?" She snaps.

"She's hyperventilating," Maggie hisses, pointing to Carol. "Somebody needs to take her gag off!"

"She's a nervous little bird, ain't she?" Molly, the older woman whose name we'd just learned while the dream team was arguing, observes as she relieves Carol of her gag.

"Look at you," the dark haired woman, Chelle, sneers, watching Carol catch her breath. "Bitch, how did you make it this far?"

"Honey, you need to take some yoga breaths and calm your ass down," Molly says, crouching beside Carol.

"I can't…" Carol pants, her bound hands toying with her pocket.

Jesus Christ. That sneaky, wonderful woman. She'd managed to slip the rosary into her pocket before the assholes came back, and she's putting on quite the show. God fearing, panicky, fragile… tricking these people into believing she's harmless. Molly helps her pull the beads from her pocket, the small, silver crucifix glinting in the light as Carol lifts it to her face.

"Oh," Molly mutters, straightening. "You're one of  _ those. _ "

"What're you so afraid of?" Paula demands, staring at Carol in disbelief. "Are you actually afraid to die? All this… and you're scared of getting your ticket punched."

"It doesn't matter what happens to me," Carol murmurs, breaths evening as she calms. "Just don't hurt Maggie."

No. God damn it, Carol, don't. If they find out Maggie's pregnant… I try to catch Carol's eyes, but she's staring straight at Paula. My tongue pushes desperately at the balled up rag in my mouth, frantically trying to free my voice before Carol-

"Don't hurt the baby," she breathes, and my heart falls through my body, settling somewhere in my gut. It's too late.

The energy in the room shifts, all eyes on Maggie.

"Yeah, right," Chelle scoffs, turning and aiming her gun at Maggie's head.

"She got a bun in the oven, she doesn't look it," Donnie, the injured man, points out.

"I'm only two months, I think," Maggie says flatly.

"You're some kinda stupid, getting knocked up at a time like this," Paula announces, Maggie letting out a soft chuckle. "You think that's funny?"

"When was it ever smart to get knocked up?" Maggie counters. "Women used to just die in childbirth. And they always thought the world was gonna end. Livin' through it, why would you just give up?"

God damn it, Maggie, shut up! I wish to hell I could get this fucking gag out, Carol and Maggie need to  _ stop talking _ to these people.

"But  _ are  _ you gonna live through it?" Paula demands, cocking her head and smirking. "Anyway, that's cute. Babies are the point. Children are our future. Making bite-sized snacks for the dead… the point is to stay standing."

"No," Maggie shakes her head. "Walkers do that. I'm choosin' somethin'."

I claw hopelessly at my gag, my bound hands rendered all but useless. Paula eyes me curiously, determining I'm not a threat before turning her attention back to Maggie.

"That's right," she simpers. "You are. You did."

With that, she leaves the room. Donnie groans, slumped against the wall. He's as good as dead, that tourniquet is too tight and it's been on too long. Chelle keeps her gun on Maggie, ready to fire if she moves an inch. I finally manage to tear the gag from my mouth just as Molly lights up, filling the air with smoke. Filling Maggie's  _ lungs _ with smoke.

"The baby," I hiss.

Molly turns to me, stunned and cackling through her terrible smoker's cough.

"Honey, in case you haven't noticed, you've got bigger problems than a little secondhand smoke," she informs me, continuing to drag on her cigarette.

"Molls," Chelle says, glaring at her companion.

Holy shit. I didn't peg Chelle for the sympathetic type, but it would seem I was mistaken.

"Y'all are worse than a buncha…  _ evangelical _ second graders," Molly spits, stamping her cigarette and hacking into a handkerchief.

She can't stop. She must've been a longtime smoker even before all this, her diminished lungs riddled with disease. God, I hope Daryl quits before this shit happens to him.

"Those things'll kill you," Carol points out quietly.

"They already have," Molly states calmly, turning the now bloodied handkerchief towards us. "I'm a dead woman walkin'. Which puts us in exactly the same boat."

She chuckles obnoxiously, the laughter turning into another coughing fit. The same boat… no. Her boat's a driftwood raft, at best, mottled with holes and sinking much faster than ours. We're not dead yet. Paula doesn't come back for a while. Maybe hours, for all I know. Time seems to be passing slower than usual. She comes racing back into the room only when Donnie's anguished howls begin to echo through the building.

What a baby.

"My arm feels like it's on fire!" He cries, Paula crouching beside him to examine his bloody limb.

"You pull that off, you gonna be nothin' but a spigot!" Molly snarls.

"Okay, hold on," Paula orders, adjusting the tourniquet. "Scout crew is coming. They're 30 minutes out, maybe less."

"Hate to break it to you, but your boy doesn't have 30 minutes," I point out. "His nerves are dyin'."

"He doesn't get medical help, he's gonna lose his arm, maybe his life," Maggie adds. "I'm not a doctor, but my dad lost his leg, and I know that much. Your man, Primo, you think he can help you? It's time to end this.  _ Talk to Rick. _ "

"30 minutes," Paula tells Donnie, ignoring us both.

Dumbass.

"You know my problem?" Donnie demands, getting to his feet with some effort, glaring at Carol. "She did this to me. She did it and she's just sittin' there right as rain, fully intact."

"Hey," Paula warns as he steps towards Carol, towering above her.

"No, you're not gonna make the trade!" Donnie insists, good hand on his pistol. "And we just do 'em all now."

"No, we wait for the others," Paula retorts. "We have to be smart. We need insurance."

"Then shoot her in the arm, too," Donnie demands.

"No," Paula chuckles, ignoring his little tantrum.

"You really gonna stick up for some gutless bitch over me?" He snarls, and I've had about enough.

"Seems to me the only gutless bitch in this room's you," I mutter, amusement flashing briefly in Paula's eyes. "Have some fuckin' balls."

"Shut up," Paula hisses, Donnie whining and collapsing in on himself.

"Don't push me, Paula!" He cries.

"Shut up!" Paula repeats, and Donnie snaps, backhanding her across the face and inching closer to Carol.

"Leave her alone!" Maggie snarls, lunging for his legs, knocking him off his feet.

He gets back up, yanking Maggie along with him.

"You dumb, uppity bitch!" He hisses, but Maggie lunges forward, hurling her head into his face.

He falls near Carol, and she grabs at him, desperately trying to keep him from Maggie. He whirls around, landing a vicious kick to her stomach, and another to her back. Rage consumes me and I roll towards him, flattening my back to the floor and swinging my bound legs up with as much force as I can manage, the toes of my boots connecting solidly to his face. Blood spurts from his nose as he howls in pain.

"You broke my nose, you stupid bitch!" He spits, his blood dripping onto my face as I scramble backwards, leading him away from Carol and Maggie.

His foot connects with my ribs, knocking the wind out of me. I'm sure they're broken. He yanks the beanie off my head, pulling me to my feet by my hair, cocking his fist. He rears back, throwing all his weight into the punch. My vision goes dark for a moment, white hot pain exploding in my face, radiating from my left cheekbone. I can feel the blood trickling down, dripping from my jawline onto my shirt. Before I can react, he drops to the ground, revealing Paula. She'd hit him with the butt of her gun, knocking him unconscious.

"You really are some kinda stupid," she sneers, then turns to Maggie. "Take her out. See if she knows anything. Should've done that before."

"Maggie! Maggie, Maggie, please, don't tell 'em anything!" I hiss, panic stricken, as Chelle drags her from the room. "Maggie!"

"Shut up!" Paula snarls, shoving me to the floor in Maggie's place.

"Or  _ what? _ " I snap, and she balks, knowing full well she's got nothing to bargain with if she kills even one of us.

She sneers and turns away, allowing Molly to tend to the wound Donnie had left on her cheek.

"He got you good, kid," Molly tells her, dabbing at the small cut.

"He's in pain," Paula counters. "Guys can't handle pain."

I think of the men I know, of Abraham, Glenn, Rick, Daryl, even Carl. My boys can handle pain this bitch could never even  _ begin _ to imagine. Carol's still curled in on herself, but she's moving, upright now. For a moment I was terrified she'd been kicked in just the wrong place on her spine, paralyzing her. It's a small relief, but a relief nonetheless. I glance at Donnie. I'm gonna kill him.

"Excuse me," Carol says quietly. "Just wanted to say thank you for helping Maggie, Adrienne… for helping me."

Are you fucking joking? Carol's lost her mind. Carol's lost her mind, and Maggie is god fucking knows where and my hands are fucking  _ useless. _

"My husband, Ed, he used to-"

"Yeah?" Paula snaps loudly, cutting Carol off. "I don't care if your old man used to ring your bell. I see exactly who you are, Carol."

She steps towards her and, for a brief moment, I consider tripping her. If I can take her out, the old, sick woman wouldn't stand a fucking chance. But I can't risk it. I can't risk getting Maggie killed.

"I know," Paula continues. "You're pathetic. You wanna think we're just the same? Go ahead. You're wrong. He's just a warm body for my bed. That's it. I could kill him in his sleep."

"Well ain't you just all that and a basket of hog shit?" I simper, watching Carol's face fall.

"You," Paula says, turning to face me. "I like you. I don't want to kill you. No… we could use you. But your friend here? I'll kill her without even blinking, keep it up."

I glare at her, silent. She's a dead woman. They're all dead. We're the ones who live. Rick said that. He's right. I will do  _ whatever _ it takes to get us out of here. Alive. Paula smirks, turning back towards Carol and chuckling mirthlessly as she takes in the scene before her. Carol, clutching her stolen rosary as though it's the hand of Christ himself. Salvation. She didn't want to come to Negan's compound, but she came anyway. Morgan's been getting to her, intensifying the guilt she feels for doing the things we all have to do to keep each other safe.

"Do you really believe in that crap?" Paula scoffs.

"My faith got me through the death of my daughter," Carol says tearfully, and my blood runs cold.

I haven't heard her mention Sophia in a year, at least.

"Well, the good news is maybe you'll see her again soon," Paula says, faux sweetness dripping from her voice as she turns away.

"Have you thought about it?" Rick's voice crackles suddenly, emanating from the radio clipped to Paula's belt. "Talk to me."

"You weren't listening," Paula says breezily into the walkie. "I said I'd contact you."

"Would it make a difference if I said I was sorry about that?" Rick questions.

"What do you think?" Paula counters.

"I think we're gonna make the trade," Rick says insistently. "So tell me where."

"We haven't agreed to that," Paula points out, pacing.

"You will," Rick says confidently.

"You know what?" Paula questions. "I'm not so sure. We'd be taking most of the risk, not getting much in the way of a reward."

"The other option won't work out for you," Rick promises.

"We'll take our chances," Paula simpers, ending the conversation.

"You don't have to do this," Carol sighs. "You don't have to fight."

"Your people killed  _ all  _ of my people," Molly says bluntly. "Of course we gotta fight."

"We didn't want to," Carol insists.

"But you did," Paula retorts. "So tell me why."

"Your people ambushed my people on the road," Carol says tearfully. "Tried to take everything we had. They were gonna kill them."

I stare at Carol, shocked at the genuine tears pouring from her eyes. She's broken. Truly remorseful. Helpless. My heart breaks for her. She shouldn't have to feel this. She shouldn't. These people are the bad guys. They kill people because they  _ can, _ not because they have to. They killed a  _ child. _

"Well, damn," Molly exclaims. "So now we know what happened to T's group. Those idiots. Probably put on a big show."

"Okay," Paula nods. "Fair play. You were just defending yourselves. But, see… your people killed them on the road, right? Blew them to pieces. So, why not stop?"

"They said they were working for Negan," Carol breathes.

"And what do you think you know about Negan?" Paula counters quietly.

"He sounded like a maniac," Carol replies. "We were scared, we had to stop him."

"Sweetie, sweetie…" Molly says, holding another lit cigarette in her hand. "We are  _ all  _ Negan."

"What do you mean?" Carol questions, Molly puffing and then hacking on the smoke. "What does that mean?"

Both Molly and Paula are silent. They're not gonna explain shit.  _ We are all Negan. _ Are, not were. Present tense. There are more. We just woke the hydra.

"Can I have one?" Carol requests, watching Molly light another cigarette on the end of her last.

"Well, look at you, little bird," Molly says, stamping the butt of her cigarette into the ground. "I didn't think you approved."

"I don't," Carol says flatly.

Molly obliges, sticking a cigarette between Carol's lips and lighting it for her. Carol inhales, holding the cigarette between her teeth carefully as she blows the smoke from her mouth.

"You are weak," Paula announces. "What are you so afraid of? So scared you can't even stick to your own principles."

"You don't want me to stick to my own principles," Carol promises, and only I can hear the threat behind her seemingly innocuous words.

"I was a secretary before," Paula says abruptly. "I fetched coffee for my boss and made him feel good about himself. I spent most of my days reading stupid inspirational emails to try and feel good about myself. There was this one that kept going around. A young woman was having a hard time and told her mom she wanted to give up, so her mom went to the kitchen and started boiling three pots of water."

What in the actual fuck?

"She put a carrot in one, an egg in another, and ground coffee beans in the last one," Paula continues. "After they'd boiled a while, her mom said look… all three things went through the same boiling water. The carrot went in strong and came out soft. The egg was fragile and came out hard. But the coffee beans changed the water itself. You're supposed to wanna be the coffee beans. See, to me, coffee was just a thing that my boss would drink up. No matter how many times I refilled his damn cup, it was just never enough. I was at work when the Army took over DC. We weren't allowed to leave. They had to evacuate all the important people first. Members of Congress, government employees. So I was stuck with my boss. Not my family. My husband, my  _ four girls _ …"

She turns around, sniffling, her untouchable facade chipping away right before our very eyes.

"My boss was weak and stupid and he was going to die and he was gonna take me down, too," she announces, her calm, cool, and collected mask firmly back in place. "He was the first person I killed so that I could live. I stopped counting when I hit double digits, that's right around the time I stopped feeling bad about it. I am  _ not  _ like you. I'm still me, but better. I lost everything and it made me stronger."

"You sure about that?" Carol counters.

"I'm alive," Paula retorts.

"With those people, those killers," Carol fires back.

"Your people are killers, Carol," Paula points out. "That makes you a killer."

"You… you're the one," Carol says abruptly.

"Excuse me?" Paula questions, affronted.

"You're the one who's afraid to die," Carol says. "And you're going to. You  _ will die. _ It's what's gonna happen if you don't work this out."

"Are you going to kill me?" Paula asks, unphased.

"I hope not."

But she will. There's no other way out of this. It ends in blood. It always ends in blood.


	76. You're A Package Deal

**Chapter 76**

"Asshole, are you there?" Paula hisses into the radio.

"I'm here," Rick's voice fills the room, but it's different this time.

Clear. No static. They're close. Very close. I exchange a glance with Carol, and I can see in her face she's picked up on it, too. We need to get to Maggie. Now. I don't know how, but Daryl found our trail. He found our trail and they're here and we're separated, if they come in before we find Maggie…  _ fuck. _

"We've thought about it," Paula says. "We wanna make the trade."

"That's good," Rick tells her. 

"There's a large field with a sign that says  _ 'God is dead' _ about two miles down I-66," Paula informs him. "Good visibility in all directions."

"We'll meet you there," Rick says. "Ten minutes?"

"Ten minutes," she confirms, then shakes her head, turning the walkie off. "Mm-mm… no, that was too easy."

"Maybe they're just itchin' to get their people back," Molly suggests.

"No, there was no static," Paula points out. She knows. "There should've been static. They're close, they're probably already here. We were careful, but there were tracks. There had to be."

"No," Carol breathes, eyes wide.

"They killed everybody back home," Paula continues. "They have the weapons. They know what they're doing. They're probably waiting to kill us soon as we walk out those doors. That's what we'd do."

"No," Carol shakes her head adamantly. "You have to listen to me, please. Rick is a man of his word. He wouldn't put me, Adie, and Maggie at risk to attack."

"Then he's just as stupid as you are," Paula spits, pulling out the radio and switching channels. "What's your ETA?"

"A few minutes away, but the car is runnin' on fumes," a man's voice echoes through the room.

"We have gas," Paula points out. "We'll fill you up and then we move. Radio when you're back in the perimeter."

"Copy that."

"We gotta get ready," Paula says, grabbing her pack. "Pull Chelle out so she doesn't get stuck in a fight. We have to be ready to move at any second."

"What about the girl?" Molly questions.

"Leave her for now," Paula instructs. "If we leave, we travel light. And if the pricks are here, we'll pick 'em off at the door."

Travel light… meaning kill us  _ and _ our people and bounce. Like hell. The two women leave, taking out two walkers on the way out the door. I don't know how many are crawling about this place, but we can take 'em out after we take care of our captors. Carol and I spring into action. She uses the crucifix dangling from the rosary to gouge holes into her binds, perforating the tape enough to tear her hands free. I twist around, sawing through my own tape against the exposed brick. In under two minutes, we're free.

We make our way swiftly through the building, searching for Maggie. The knot in my gut loosens some when we find her, breaking free from her own binds just as the two of us enter the room she'd been held in.

"Are you okay?" Maggie breathes, pulling us each into a hug.

"Have to be," Carol murmurs.

"Fine," I nod, eyeing the door. "Are you?"

"Yeah," Maggie assures me. "I'm okay."

"They've spread out, but I think we can make it past them," Carol announces. "We have to try." 

"We can't leave 'em alive," Maggie states calmly.

"No, we should just go," Carol pleads.

"Carol, they know what we look like," I hiss. "They have our names,  _ Rick's _ name."

"We have to finish this," Maggie says insistently. "We  _ have _ to."

Carol nods reluctantly and the three of us sprint down the hallway, back into the room we'd all started in. Looking around, I can see now that this place used to be some sort of meat packing plant. It's big. Full of walkers. And we have no weapons. Maggie crouches beside Donnie, pulling his tourniquet loose. Blood oozes lazily from his arm, his lungs rattling. He'd already been dead. Good. He's turning. Maggie grabs the rope that had served as the failed tourniquet and ties it around his belt.

When they come back, we'll be ready. A walker on a leash is a pretty damn good weapon, all things considered. We tether Donnie to one of the pipes in the corner nearest the door, then hide in the hallway, just around the corner, patiently waiting for one of the women to return. The door flies open, an unsuspecting Molly stepping through. She's attacked immediately, bitten.

"Eat shit and  _ die, _ Donnie!" She snarls, driving her knife into her dead companion's skull. "Where are you, Magnolia?"

Maggie slips around the corner, catching Molly by surprise once more. She knocks the woman to the ground, snatching the pistol from her belt and beating her over the head with it. She's ruthless, bringing the weapon down over and over until the back of Molly's skull caves in. Same boat, my ass.

She tosses Carol the gun and we're off, hunting down Chelle and Paula before they come for us. We stop short when we come to a hallway filled with walkers, tied in place to keep us in or maybe just to keep the others out. Either way, at least we know now where the exit is. Before we can turn away, gunshots ring out. Paula, at the other end of the hallway, cornering us between her and the walkers.

"Just run," Carol begs, gun aimed at Paula's head.

"Shoot her," Maggie breathes.

But Carol is paralyzed. No one moves, not until Paula strides forward, inching closer and closer.

"Go on, do it," she says quietly. "You've killed Donnie, you've killed Molly. Your people have destroyed my home."

"Get outta here," Carol pleads, shaking her head.

"Carol!" I snap, the walkers growing more and more restless, Paula drawing nearer and nearer.

"You have no idea," she spits. "The things I've done, what I've given up, what I had to do."

"Just run!" Carol whispers frantically.

"Carol,  _ shoot her, _ " Maggie snarls.

"Go ahead," Paula urges. "I've already lost everything."

Before she can get another word out, one of the walkers ensnared on the pipe behind Carol breaks free, lunging for her neck. Carol finally shoots, Paula dropping to the ground as Maggie rushes forward, plunging her blade into the walker just before it can sink its teeth into Carol's shoulder.

"Paula?" Chelle's voice echoes through the hallway. "Paula? Molly?"

She comes around the corner and Maggie knocks the gun from her hand. I snatch it from the floor.

"You lying bitch!" Chelle screams, pulling a knife from her belt and slashing at Maggie's stomach.

She pulls away, Maggie staring down in horror at the large, horizontal slice in her shirt. I step forward, placing the gun against the back of Chelle's head and pulling the trigger. She drops to the ground, and we're free.

"Maggie!" I cry, rushing forward to examine her belly.

There's no blood. Not even a scratch. I choke out a relieved sob, gathering her into my arms. Then Paula groans. She's still alive, pulling herself unsteadily to her feet with a derisive cackle, eyeing the gun in Carol's hand. I snatch Chelle's knife from the floor and tuck it into my belt, moving to stand between Maggie and the evil bitch now taunting Carol.

"You're good," she says mirthlessly. "Nervous little bird. You were her. But not now, right? Me, too."

"I told you to run," Carol says, sorrow lacing her voice.

"If you could do all this, what were you so afraid of, Carol?" Paula demands with a sneer.

"I was afraid of this," Carol says quietly, moving towards the woman.

Before Carol can shoot, Paula grabs her shoulders, trying to shove her into the walkers lining the hallway. But Carol is not weak. She's afraid, yes. But she is _ not  _ weak _. _ She flings Paula forward, impaling her on the jagged end of her own walker snare. Into her own trap. Paula's screams echo through the building as the walker closest descends upon her, tearing the flesh from her face.

"Paula, we're approaching the perimeter," the radio squawks as Carol, Maggie and I look on in silent horror. "Are we a go?"

Carol grabs the walkie from Paula's belt as the woman's screams turn into a gurgle, then silence.

"Do you copy?" The radio crackles.

"Meet us on the kill floor," Carol hisses into the walkie, sounding alarmingly like the dead woman beside us.

The kill floor. A large concrete room, outfitted with meat hooks and a drain in the center of the floor. Well… once a slaughterhouse, always slaughterhouse. We move quickly, gathering the two gas canisters Chelle had placed near the door, pilfering the lighter from Molly's body, and making our way to the kill floor. We have to finish this. We douse the room in gasoline, then we wait.

"I think I might've killed eighteen people," Carol whispers as we sit outside the trap we've made.

Eighteen. I still remember the first man I killed, back in Atlanta. It was just me and Glenn, there to scavenge medical supplies. Glenn was cornered and I had no choice. I shot the man in the back of the head. He didn't even see me coming. I don't know how many I've killed now, but it's gotta be up there, too. I killed six men last night. Six killers. And I still feel… nothing. No regret, no guilt. Whatever it takes to protect the ones I love.

"Nineteen," Carol amends. "I should've killed Donnie, too, in the woods. I had a clear shot, I didn't miss None of this would've happened if I'd just killed him."

"It would've happened," I point out. "It always happens."

"Don't think about it," Maggie murmurs.

" _ I can't stop. _ "

Then it hits me. She sees herself in Paula. A ruthless killer. She's wrong. Carol kills to save people. Paula only wanted to save herself.

"You're not like her," I breathe quietly.

"I will be," she replies, sniffling once more before her face turns blank.

"We're almost done," Maggie says flatly.

And we are. Paula's men have just arrived, marching past our hiding place and into the room marked kill floor. How appropriate. We're ready, hiding just outside the door.

"Careful," one man says. "Floor's slick."

"You sure this is it?" Another asks.

"She said kill floor," the first man assures him.

Carol places a cigarette in her mouth and lights up.

"Hey, this one's locked!"

They're all locked. They won't get out.

"Let me," I whisper, taking the cigarette from Carol's trembling fingers.

Together, Maggie and Carol slide the heavy metal door most of the way shut, and I toss the cigarette through the crack just before it closes completely, locked from the outside. The room and the men inside it go up in flames, shrieking as the stench of burning flesh permeates the air around us.

"Don't listen, Carol," I murmur, pulling her from the door. "Don't listen."

We make our way through the smoke filled hallways, back to the walker trap blocking the exit. We're alive. And we're going home. We take down the walkers one by one, knives plunging into skulls, boots stomping through the heads on the floor. Carol… Carol's with us, but she's not here. And I'm afraid we're leaving a part of her behind to turn to ash in the roaring flames.

We approach the door, but it flies open before we can get to it.

"Maggie!" Glenn cries, lowering his weapon.

My eyes zero in on Daryl. He's alive. They're alive, they're  _ all  _ alive. My knees buckle, Daryl catching me before I can collapse.

"You okay?" He questions Carol over my shoulder as I sob into his chest, clutching at his back gratefully. "We got your trail. You start a fire?"

"Yeah," Carol breathes, expressionless.

"Hey," Daryl murmurs, releasing me into Abe's arms and lifting Carol's chin, forcing her to look him in the eyes. "You good?"

"No," she whispers, choking back her tears.

"C'mere," Daryl says, pulling her into his arms.

"Ah!" I cry out in pain, Abraham's hug squeezing my crushed ribs.

"What happened?" He questions gruffly, standing back and taking me in.

Carol, Maggie, and I are all covered in blood, both walker and human, soot staining our faces.

"They're dead," Maggie says. "They're all dead, the ones that took us. They're all dead."

"Hey, are you okay?" Glenn questions frantically, examining his wife.

"I just… I can't anymore," Maggie sobs, the couple collapsing into each other.

"You all right?" Daryl murmurs, running a thumb lightly over my battered cheek.

"I'm fine," I promise, eyes on a man I don't recognize as Rick turns to address him.

"Your friends are dead," he states calmly. "No one's comin' for you. So you might as well talk."

"Let 'im burn," Daryl growls.

"I'm gonna ask you one last time…" Rick holds up a finger. "How'd you get the bike?"

"We found it," the man, presumably Primo, mutters.

"Like hell you did!" Daryl snarls.

"We found it," Primo repeats.

"Was Negan in that building last night or was he here?" Rick demands.

"Both," Primo smirks. "I'm Negan, shithead. Now, there's a whole world of fun that we can talk about, so let's have a chat."

"I'm sorry it had to come to this," Rick says, raising his gun and firing a single round into Primo's brain.

We're done here. But this is far from over. I can feel it.  _ We are all Negan. _

*Daryl's POV*

Adie says the people who took her and Maggie and Carol called the sumbitch who had my bike Primo. It's been days since we took out Negan's men and Adie still won't talk about what happened. She came out of that building broken, bruised, and bloody. None of 'em will talk about what happened, Maggie won't leave Glenn's side and Carol's been spending most of her free time chain-smoking on Tobin's front porch.

Adie says she don't feel guilty about the shit we have to do to get by, but whatever happened there… I ain't sure if it's guilt, but something's got a hold on her. I heard her in the shower the night we got back, choking out sobs as she washed away the blood, soot, and guts. She was silent when she came to bed, just fell into the sheets beside me and lay there, staring blankly at the ceiling. I should've held her, should've done  _ something, _ but I didn't. I couldn't touch her, not that night. She just seemed so… fragile. And I don't want her to end up like Maggie. We can't.

She insists she's fine, but she ain't. She's off with Rosita somewhere. The two of them have been teaching Denise, and anyone else who wants to, how to fight, defend themselves and each other with real weapons. She's staying busy, training, pulling extra watch shifts, exhausting herself so she can sleep at night. I ain't on watch til tonight, so I'm taking the time to clean up my bike. Ain't want nothin' of them scumbags left on it.

"Didn't even notice," Carol says, striding towards me. "Got your bike back."

"Yeah," I nod, taking a seat beside her as she sinks down onto the bottom step of Rick's porch, cigarette in hand. "You got another one of those?"

She nods, producing a pack of smokes from her pocket and handing me one.

"Thanks," I tell her, tucking the cigarette between my lips and lighting up.

"Those people you met, the ones in the burnt forest, they took it from you?" She questions, eyeing the bike.

"Yeah," I confirm, taking a drag.

"You saved 'em, right?" She follows up softly, but I can't answer that. "Sorry. It's who you are. We're still stuck with that."

"No, we ain't," I blurt, eyeing her. "I should've killed 'em."

This was the wrong thing to say to her, apparently, and she falls silent for a moment before tossing her pack of smokes onto the step next to me and getting to her feet. She heads off, back down the street. I gotta ask.

"Hey," I grunt, and she turns. "The ones that took you, Adie, 'n Maggie… what'd they do to you?"

"To us?" She asks derisively. "They didn't do anything."

With that, she leaves me to my thoughts. Hell… maybe they didn't do nothin' to us. Yet. But they did it to somebody, and they were coming for us. Just a matter of time. We did what we had to do.

*Adrienne's POV*

"You sure you're ready for this?" I question softly.

Rosita and Denise have just met me in the courtyard, explaining that Denise wants to forgo her lessons today and go on a med run. She's never been on a run before, and I can tell Rosita's skeptical. But it's not like we were born good at runs. We all get a first time eventually, and Denise is getting pretty handy with a machete.

"Yes," she answers confidently. "Daryl isn't on watch, I thought you could maybe ask him to go with us. With the three of you… I know I'll be safe."

"Why don't you ask him yourself?" I blurt, eyeing her curiously.

"He'll say yes to you."

Oh.

She thinks if I ask he'll go. Because we're together. This is the first time anyone has tried to exploit that, and even though I know her intentions are good, it rubs me the wrong way. Having me ask just feels... manipulative. Hell, no.

"Look, I'll go if he goes," I tell her firmly, Rosita nodding in agreement. "But I'm tellin' you, he's not gonna be okay with you goin' out there, as inexperienced as you are, and I'm not askin' him. You are."

"Fine, I'll ask him myself but just… just back me up," she insists.

I cave, the three of us heading over to Rick's place, Daryl looking up from the bike on the sidewalk as we approach. I can't help myself from checking him out, even now. The man has no idea how attractive he is, how women react to him. I've even caught Rosita appreciatively eyeing his arms a time or two. I really can't believe he picked  _ me. _ He rises to his feet as we draw near, eyes squinting inquisitively.

"I had a favor to ask you," Denise starts, unfolding the map on which she'd marked the location of the apothecary she's been wanting to check out. "After I got out of DC, I just drove. I remember seeing it right when I realized I had no idea where I was going. Edison's Apothecary and Boutique. It's just this little gift shop in a strip mall, but if it's really an apothecary, they had drugs."

"How do you know they still got 'em?" Daryl questions.

"It isn't that far," Denise says wearily, this conversation essentially a repeat of her pitch to me and Rosita. "I just wanna check. And you, Rosita, and Adie aren't out scavenging or pulling shifts."

"We'll go," Daryl nods.

" _ I  _ wanted to check," Denise says emphatically. "I just wanted to help."

"How much time you spend out there?" Daryl demands, Rosita and I exchanging a knowing glance.

We'd asked her all this before.

"None," Denise admits.

"Forget it," Daryl shuts her down immediately, and she glances at me with pleading eyes.

I shake my head, standing by what I'd told her before. I'm not asking him. He'll do what he wants anyway, I know that. But still.

"I can ID the meds," she argues, turning her eyes back to Daryl when she realizes I'm not gonna be any help. "I know how to use a machete now. I've seen roamers up close. I'm ready."

"You good with this?" Daryl questions, eyes flickering between me and Rosita.

"No," Rosita says flatly.

I just shrug.

"I'll go alone if I have to," Denise says adamantly.

"You'll die alone," Daryl amends.

"I'm asking you to make sure I don't," she retorts.

"We're not babysitting her by ourselves," Rosita says, smacking at my elbow in what I think is supposed to be a show of solidarity, but I'm not sure.

Daryl gives in, and we all pile into a truck and head out. Well, the three of them pile into a truck. I hop into the bed. Daryl doesn't like it, but it gives us an advantage to have a gunman outside the vehicle, and I don't mind, at least not until the truck jerks repeatedly as we roll down the road. Daryl's skills with a manual transmission are… lacking, and every time he disengages the clutch, the truck squeals and stalls in protest.

I can hear Denise's muffled voice in the cab, giving him instructions on how to handle the truck, from the sounds of things. The truck squeals again, gears grinding. I think that one was on purpose to spite Denise, and it would be funny if the back of my head wasn't smacking into glass every time the truck stalls. Still, this trip will be a good distraction.

_ We are all Negan. _

The men we took out that night… there's more, I'm sure of it. It's only a matter of time before they sniff us out. And I'm fucking terrified. Negan… Negan might not even be an actual person. The Saviors could just be calling themselves that, like some kind of bizarre, culty, blood brothers type shit.

But then, who's in charge? There has to be some kind of leader. Without a figure of authority, it all falls apart. No, somebody's pulling the strings, calling the shots. We're gonna pay for what we've done eventually. I'm pulled from my ominous musings when Daryl brings the truck to a stop. Twisting around, I can see why. A massive tree has fallen, blocking our path down the road. Looks like we're gonna be on foot the rest of the way.

Daryl and Rosita hop out of the truck, leaving Denise inside while they check the area. I stay with her, standing watch atop the cab. Rosita takes out the single walker tangled in the roots of the fallen tree, Daryl disappearing into the woods, emerging a few moments later. It's clear.

"What'd you find?" Denise asks, eyeing the bag in Rosita's hand as Daryl and I grab our packs from the truck bed.

"Bottles of booze," Rosita grins. "Any takers?"

"No, thanks," Denise mutters.

"For later," Rosita amends. "I'm not bringin' these to the pantry."

"I'm good," Denise says as Daryl and I fall into step behind her. "They were kinda my parent's thing. Which is why they aren't mine."

"I'm down," I shrug. "What the hell else're we gonna do?"

"There's my girl," Rosita grins.

"That truck ain't gonna make it past this tree," Daryl announces. "C'mon, let's walk."

"Hold up," Denise says, eyeing the map. "Looks like a straight shot if we follow the tracks."

"No," Daryl says flatly.

"Too exposed," I agree.

"No tracks, we'll take the road," Daryl instructs.

"That's twice as far," Rosita protests.

"Go whichever way you like," Daryl huffs, stalking off down the road. "I ain't takin' no tracks."

"We should stick together," Denise says, following in his footsteps.

Rosita scoffs, heading down the tracks.

"Rosita!" I hiss, tearing after her. "C'mon, splittin' up when we don't have to is stupid."

"Then go with them," she says flippantly, continuing on her merry way.

God damn it. I glance at Daryl's retreating figure, Denise a few steps behind him, torn. I follow Rosita, silently falling into step with her along the tracks, hating myself for choosing her over Daryl. I had to. She was alone. It's a 45 minute walk, give or a take a few minutes, a straight shot like Denise had said, and we walk it in silence. I flop heavily onto the ground at the road I know Daryl and Denise should be crossing in the next half hour or so, Rosita taking a seat beside me and offering me her canteen in silent thanks. She didn't really want to be alone, she's just stubborn.

"So… you and Spencer Monroe?" I question awkwardly after a while, unsure how to act around her now that she and Abraham have parted ways.

"We're not talking about this," she sighs heavily, tears forming in her eyes.

"Shit," I blurt. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to… I mean, you don't have to. But you can."

"Why didn't you go with Daryl?" She asks abruptly, changing the subject.

"I wanted to," I admit, guilt clawing at my insides. "But… I couldn't let you walk away with no one to watch your back. You would've done the same thing."

She nods, scanning the street with narrowed eyes. Then something softens in her face and she turns towards me, her gaze boring into mine.

"I followed Abraham halfway across the damn country," she says, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Chose him  _ every _ time, no matter who we had to leave behind. And… it still wasn't enough."

She lets her words hang in the air, and I'm not sure if she's chastising me or just bitter about the way her own relationship played out. Honestly, she and Abraham never made sense to me. I think they have love for each other, but I think their bond was formed more out of happenstance than anything else. Rosita is hurt, and no one can fault her for that, but… Abraham's face lights up in a different way with Sasha. Abe is honest to a fault, and there comes a time when you can't deny what you feel. He had to let Rosita go.

In the old world, she could've just eaten her weight in Ben and Jerry's and avoided Abraham until she was over him, or maybe the rest of her life. But now? Our survival requires us to work as a team. She has to watch him be happier with someone else every fucking day. We might not be best friends, but she's family and it hurts to see her hurting.

"I'm sorry, Rosita," I tell her earnestly, and she chuckles.

"Don't be," she shakes her head. "One day he'll just be a name."

"Hey, maybe Spence'll win you over with his jerky stroganoff," I quip, nudging her shoulder with mine.

"Maybe," she laughs, then turns serious again. "Choose Daryl next time. I can take care of myself."

"I know you can," I nod, spotting Daryl and Denise up the road aways, getting to my feet. "But you don't have to. You're with family. Choose  _ us _ next time."

"About time," Rosita says as Daryl and Denise approach.

Daryl pushes past her without so much as a glance in her direction. I fall into step beside him, Denise hanging back with Rosita.

"Hey," I murmur, lightly brushing my fingers against his as we walk. "I'm sorry I didn't come with you. I wasn't choosin' her side. I just… I couldn't let her walk off on her own, if somethin' bad happened…"

I trail off and he's silent for a spell, chewing on his lip. Then his hand captures mine, squeezing briefly as he eyes my face. He's not angry, not with me.

"I know," he says quietly, and that's that.

"You uh… you wanna have a drink later?"

"I got watch."

"I know, I meant after. You're only on til midnight."

"You askin' me on a date, girl?" 

"Uh… yes?"

He's watching me now, the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. A date. Christ. We live together. We sleep in the same goddamn bed. Kinda feels like we skipped the whole date thing.

"You gon' bring me flowers?" He questions nonchalantly, offering me a sidelong glance.

"Shut up," I mutter, grinning despite myself when he chuckles at my flaming cheeks.

We head down the road another hundred yards or so, then we see it. Edison's Apothecary and Boutique, smack dab in the middle of an abandoned strip mall, just like Denise had said. We reach the doors, Daryl rapping sharply on the glass before pressing his ear up to listen for any walkers that may be inside.

"All right," he says decisively when no noise comes from within. "Me and Rosita are gonna do this. You're gonna stay back with Adie, got it?"

Denise nods her agreement and we move into position. I hang back with Denise, turning and motioning for her to stand back to back with me, keeping an eye on the perimeter, Rosita spotting Daryl as he pries open the doors with a crowbar. We move in, no immediate threat presenting itself. I nudge Denise forward, then sweep the area with Daryl and Rosita. Then the smell hits Denise. We're all used to it, the inescapable stench of death and decay. This is still new for her.

"We gon' find out what you had for breakfast?" Daryl questions as she dry heaves near the door.

"Oatmeal," she replies, swallowing it back down. "Just so you know."

We make our way to the pharmacy counter, Daryl setting to work on the metal grille barring us from the meds.

"You want me to hold your bags?" Denise questions, only half kidding.

"He's got this," I murmur. "I know you wanna help, and you will. Just not with this, this is the easy part."

The grille flies open, the metal squealing seeming ten times louder in the otherwise silent, stuffy building than it would have been before when the place was alive and bustling. The shelves are, miraculously, untouched, stocked full of every kind of medication under the sun and then some. Daryl hops over the counter, opening his bag.

"If you set 'em on the counter, I can tell you which," Denise says hopefully.

"Nah," Daryl tells her. "We're gon' take it all."

"Are you sure?" She questions. "Because-"

"No, it's fine," Rosita assures her, following Daryl over the counter, the two of them raiding the shelves.

"Denise, I promise you, you're helpin' just bein' here," I tell her. "Trust me, shit  _ inevitably _ goes down and when it does-"

I don't finish, a thudding from a back room catching my attention. Daryl and Rosita stop what they're doing, peering around the corner of the pharmacy window as we listen. It's quiet, weak. Just one, from the sound of it. We're fine.

"It's just one," I announce. "We can leave it."

"Yeah, sounds like it's stuck," Daryl agrees, he and Rosita turning their attention back to the pill bottles of every shape and size.

Denise pulls her machete out anyway, quietly approaching the door from behind which the thudding continues. Damn it. I follow her. She just wants to help. It's just one. I'll let her try, cover her if she needs. She reaches the door, glancing over her shoulder at me. I nod and she squares her shoulders, pushing open the door and stepping inside.

We find ourselves in some kind of storage, breakroom hybrid. It's a small room, and the first thing my eyes are drawn to is the pack 'n play at the center of the back wall. Empty. Maybe the baby it belonged to is alive somewhere else, older and happy and fed. I know it's wishful thinking, but I can't help myself from hoping.

Then, in the back corner of the room… the walker. Female, broken leg. It's not going anywhere. Then I notice the wall. Violent red slashes across it, all forming the same word over and over and over.  _ Hush. _ Below the frantic scribblings… a sink filled with dark, tepid water, an impossibly small shoe floating near the top, and next to that... a baby, face down, tiny arms thrashing weakly in the water. Denise chokes out a small sob, fleeing the room, the sound of shattering glass reaching me as the horror-stricken woman knocks into something.

The walker… she'd been alone, couldn't get out, couldn't go anywhere with that leg and an infant.  _ Hush… _ her baby must have been starving, its cries driving her literally insane. She drowned him, then starved to death herself. Only neither of them stayed dead. Steeling myself, I plunge my knife into the skulls of each, then head back into the store.

"What the hell are you doing?" Rosita demands harshly.

"Nothing," Denise says tearfully, practically sprinting from the store.

"It's my fault," I sigh, catching Daryl's eyes. "She went to take out the walker in the back room and I let her. There was a baby."

I choke out the last part, my own tears escaping as I snatch up a backpack full of meds and follow Denise outside. She's slumped against the wall, silent tears slipping down her cheeks.

"I, uh… I took care of them," I murmur softly. "I don't know what you believe in, but if you think there's somethin'… somethin' after this, they can get there, now."

She just nods. There's nothing left to say. I thought at this point I'd seen the worst of it, but even I wasn't ready for that. I sink down beside her, letting her cry against my chest. A few minutes later, Daryl and Rosita step outside, loaded up with meds and ready to go home.

"Hey," Daryl says, getting Denise's attention. "You did good findin' this place."

She just nods tearfully, still recovering from the heinous scene hidden away in the back of the apothecary. I get to my feet, then offer her my hand. She ignores it and I try not to take it personally.

"Tried to tell you you weren't ready," Rosita points out, earning a glare from me. "We all did."

"I know," Denise sniffs.

Without much further conversation we leave Edison's behind, this time without any disagreement regarding which direction to go. We take the road, Rosita and I pulling ahead, Daryl hanging back with Denise. We should be back to the truck in under an hour, provided we don't run into any kind of trouble. Apart from the apparent matricide, this was a pretty damn successful run. I'm particularly stoked about the prenatal vitamins we'd snagged for Maggie. Between what we picked up today and what they have back at Hilltop, there are more than enough to get her through her pregnancy.

Yes, the run was a success and we're making good time back home. Things are going right and the knot in my gut loosens for the first time since the slaughter.

*Daryl's POV*

"So was he older or younger?" I question Denise, referring to the brother she'd mentioned earlier.

"Older," Denise replies, fingering the DENNIS keychain she'd swiped from the apothecary. "By six minutes. My parents came up with the Dennis, Denise thing on one of their benders. Hilarious, right?"

Yeah, parents on benders are a fuckin' riot. I don't bother answering out loud. I don't need to.

"Nothing scared him," she continues. "He was brave. He was angry, too. Kind of a dangerous combination."

"Sounds like we had the same brother," I tell her as we reach the tracks.

We could keep going, take the road. But there ain't really any reason we need to, and the tracks do cut the time in half. I stop, considering.

"Hey," Denise calls to Adie and Rosita, already across the tracks and continuing down the street.

"This way's faster, right?" I question, heading along the tracks without waiting for an answer.

The three women follow behind me, and Adie hops onto the rail, arms out as she gracefully tiptoes her way along like she's walking a tightrope. It's nice, seeing her carefree for five fuckin' minutes, and I can't help from glancing at her over my shoulder every so often. We're making good time, just about back to the truck, when Adie's voice breaks the silence.

"What the hell are you doin'?"

She's stepping down from the rail, staring incredulously at Denise, who has abandoned the tracks and is now standing beside a rusty piece of shit car at the bottom of the embankment.

"There's a cooler in there!" Denise calls. "Might be something we can use inside!"

"Yeah, there's also a walker in there," Adie hisses, not willing to risk our safety over a single cooler. "Leave it!"

"We got what we came for," Rosita points out.

"Nah, ain't worth the trouble, c'mon," I tell her, the three of us still on the tracks continuing along, assuming Denise will follow.

"Oh, son of a bitch," Adie mutters a few seconds later, hurling herself down the embankment moments before Denise falls to the ground, the walker from the car on top of her.

Adie gets to her a split second before Rosita and me, but Denise is now straddling the walker, having managed to retrieve her knife.

"No, don't!" She cries, Adie stopping short, Rosita stumbling into her back.

The three of us step back, watching Denise as she plunges her blade into the walker's skull. She stands over the corpse, breathing heavily for a few moments before twisting to the side and vomiting onto the ground.

"Well, I'll be damned," Adie murmurs, torn between annoyance and amusement. "You  _ did _ have oatmeal for breakfast."

"Oh, man," Denise huffs, straightening. "I threw up on my glasses."

"There's worse things," Adie points out, kicking the cooler upright and toeing the lid open.

Denise crouches beside it, pulling out the six-pack of canned sodas that are the sole contents. No fuckin' way.

"Hot damn," she says happily, eyeing the single can of orange crush that had been nestled among the coke zero.

"What the hell was that?" I demand, my patience all but gone with this bullshit. "You could've died right there, you know that?"

"Yeah, I do," she sighs, unconcerned.

"Are you hearin' me?" I snarl.

" _ Who gives a shit? _ " She explodes. " _ You _ could've died killing those Saviors, all of you, but you didn't. You wanna live, you take chances! That's how it works. That's what I did."

"For a coupla damn sodas?" I snap.

"Nope," she says triumphantly, holding up the can of crush. "Just this one."

She stalks off, heading back onto the tracks, tucking her prize away in her bag. Rosita tears after her. I glance at Adie and she shrugs, then the two of us follow our people back up the embankment.

"Are you seriously that stupid?" Rosita snarls.

"Rosita!" Adie hisses as Denise whirls around angrily.

"Are  _ you? _ " Denise spits, stepping towards Rosita, eyes flashing as she gazes at each of us in turn. "I mean it. Are you? Do you have any clue what that was to me, what this whole thing is to me?"

"Look, Denise, I get it, but  _ please, _ for the love of god, stop shoutin'," Adie murmurs emphatically, scanning the trees surrounding us.

"See, I have training in this shit," Denise continues, lowering her voice. "I'm not making it up as I go along, like with the stitches and the surgery and the…"

She trails off, daunted by the litany of tasks she's been called upon to perform off the cuff. She started school to be a doctor, then switched to psychology when she realized she ain't down with blood. She turns her gaze to me.

"I asked you to come with me because you're brave like my brother and sometimes you actually make me feel safe," she hisses, then starts in on Adie. "I asked you to come because you  _ terrify _ me. The things you can do. I've seen you  _ rip _ roamers apart with just your hands and… and I knew if I could convince one of you to come, you both would. You're a package deal. And I know you needed the distraction from whatever the hell you're so afraid of."

Adie stares at her, at a loss. We're all at a loss, really. Denise ain't never yelled like this before, not that any of us had actually witnessed.

"And I wanted you here because you're alone," she continues quietly, this time addressing Rosita. "Probably for the first time in your life. And because you're stronger than you think you are, which gives me hope that maybe I can be, too. I could've gone with Tara. I could've told her I loved her, but I didn't because I was afraid."

She's looking directly into my eyes now, and I know that last part was meant for me. I shift uncomfortably. I don't like feeling this exposed. The hell does this girl think she knows? Then again, she does have a fuckin' degree. Shit.

"That's what's stupid," she continues emphatically. "Not coming out here, not  _ facing _ my shit. And it makes me sick that you guys aren't even trying because you're strong and you're smart and you're all  _ really  _ good people! And if you don't wake-"

It happens so fast, I don't even register what I'm seeing for a second.

"Up… and face your…" Denise mumbles, unable to finish before collapsing to the ground, the tip of a bolt protruding from her right eye.

Suddenly we're surrounded, at least a dozen armed men emerging from the trees. Adie, Rosita, and I immediately pull our weapons, ready to fire, but it don't matter. We're outgunned.


	77. Lighten Up, Ginger

**Chapter 77**

"You drop 'em now!"

Dwight. The man from the burnt forest, the prick that took off with my bike and my fucking crossbow. Something happened to him, he got hurt. Bad. The left side of his face and ear are covered in waxy scar tissue, like he'd been burned. He lost the bike, but he apparently managed to hold on to my crossbow. None of that is the thing I notice first. He's got Eugene. He and his men climb onto the tracks, where he forces Eugene roughly to the ground. We ain't got a choice. We lower our weapons.

"Well, hell… you got somethin' to say to me?" Dwight demands. "You gonna clear the air? Step up on that high horse? No… you don't talk much."

"Who the hell're you?" Adie hisses.

"Easy, Red," Dwight chuckles, motioning a couple men forward to pat each of us down.

If looks could kill… Adrienne's gaze would be lethal. Her eyes bore into the skull of the man frisking her, and I can see her hands twitching, her fingers curling and uncurling, and I know she's fighting against every instinct she has not to kill him. She could.

"Still gettin' the hang of her," Dwight announces, lifting my crossbow pointedly. "Kicks like a bitch, but uh…"

"I should've done it," I inform him.

"Oh, what's that?" He leans forward. "Seriously, I didn't catch what you said."

"I should've killed you," I tell him, louder this time.

"Yeah, you probably should've," he agrees. "So, here we are. Kinda begs the question, right? Who brought this on who? I mean, I get that you'll just have to take my word for this, but… she wasn't even the one I was aimin' for."

"You son of a bitch!" Adie snarls, tears forming in her eyes.

"Like I said," he shrugs. "Kicks like a bitch. It's nothin' personal. Look, this isn't how we like to start new business arrangements, but… well, you pricks kind of set the tone, didn't you?"

"What do you want?" Rosita demands.

"I'm sorry, darlin', I didn't catch your name," Dwight says. "I'm D, or Dwight. You can call me either."

"How 'bout D for dipshit?" Adie snaps.

"Woah," Dwight chuckles, eyes lighting up. "I'm just gonna keep callin' you Red, if that's okay. It suits you."

Adie's face turns stony, and I can see in her eyes she's thinking of all the ways she could potentially kill him, wracking her brain for any way outta this that don't end with more of us dead. Dwight turns his attention back to Rosita.

"So?" He prompts. "What's your name?"

"Rosita," she tells him, forcefully rolling the R. "What do you want?"

"Well,  _ Rosita, _ it's not what I want," Dwight says, shaking his head. "It's what you, Daryl, and Red over there are goin' to do. You're goin' to let us into your little complex. It looks like it's just beautiful in there. And then you're going to let us take whatever and whoever we want… or we blow Eugene's brains out. Then yours. Then theirs."

He nods at Adie and I in turn. Like hell. We ain't giving this prick nothin'.

"I hope it doesn't come to that, really," Dwight assures us. "Nobody else has to die. We just try and start with one. You know… maximum impact to get our point across. So what's it gonna be? You tell me."

"You wanna kill someone, you start with our companion hidin' over there behind the oil barrels," Eugene says breathlessly, in a desperate attempt to lure them away. "He's a first class a-hole and deserves it so much more than us four."

Who the hell is he talking about? I glance over to the barrels he'd indicated, seeing no one.

"Go check it out," Dwight orders, one of his men breaking from the rest to investigate.

Eugene whips his head to the side and bites the only thing in his reach. Shit. That had to hurt. Dwight doubles over, hands grasping at Eugene's head, trying to pry him from his crotch. The whole scene is bizarre. Gunfire erupts, and Abraham emerges from the woods behind Dwight's men. We spring into action, grabbing our guns from the ground and diving behind the abandoned vehicles lining the embankment along the tracks. All this noise is attracting walkers. We need to end this, or we ain't gonna make it.

"Fall back!" Dwight roars, having freed himself of Eugene. "Fall back!"

Hell, no. He ain't gonna walk away from this. I fire at him, but only manage to release two rounds before I have to stop to reload. Damn it! He's getting away. I hurl myself over the hood of the car, snatching up my crossbow from where Dwight had abandoned it on the ground, ready to chase him and the rest of his crew through the woods and finish them off.

"Daryl, stop!" Rosita cries, and I know I have to.

Eugene's hurt, shot in the side. Rosita, Adie, and Abraham are on the ground beside him, desperately trying to staunch the flow of blood from his body. I can't leave 'em. He's a big guy, too big for them to carry home quickly, he'll bleed out if I don't help. Abe and I grab his arms, Rosita taking his legs and Adie pressing a balled up shirt she'd torn off one of the dead men on the ground against his wound.

The five of us make it home, leaving Denise's body behind on the tracks.

*Adrienne's POV*

We had to leave her. Now that Eugene's patched up and stable, here in Denise's infirmary, that's all I can think about. We're surrounded by her things. In her space. And she's out on the tracks, exposed, left to rot. I glance over at Daryl, standing and staring out the window at the fading daylight, and I know he's thinking about her, too.

"Rick's comin'," Abraham says, marching into the room. "How's he doin'?"

"Bullet just grazed him," Rosita shakes her head. "But it's a good thing we got him back when we did. Antibiotics we picked up could save him from an infection. Could save his life. That's what Denise did."

Eugene interrupts with a sudden coughing fit. Good, he's conscious. Sooner we can get those meds in him, the better.

"You here?" Rosita questions.

"Present," he croaks, and Rosita heads off towards the med cabinet to grab the first dose of antibiotics.

"Good," Abraham says gruffly, nodding.

"I was not tryin' to kill you," Eugene announces, eyeing the man. "I was lookin' for a moment."

"You found it," Abraham says, leaning over Eugene.

"Do you apologize for questionin' my skills?" Eugene asks.

"I apologize for questioning your skills," Abraham nods. "You know how to bite a dick, Eugene. I mean that with the utmost of respect. Welcome to stage two."

"Don't need to welcome me," Eugene insists. "I've been here a while."

"You mean, you've bitten a few dicks before?" I chuckle, folding a wet rag in half and placing it over his forehead.

I straighten up and head over to Daryl, leaning against his back and resting my chin on his shoulder. He tenses, but relaxes immediately when he realizes it's just me.

"Come on," I murmur, taking him by the hand and leading him from the infirmary. "We still have light. Let's go get her."

He nods his agreement and we head back out. It's a silent journey, and without the frantic energy of our trip home, Eugene bleeding out in our arms, I realize just how close to home we were. Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes from the safety of our walls. I swipe bitterly at the tears escaping my eyes and lay the sheet we'd brought with us on the ground beside Denise's body.

Together, Daryl and I lift her, carefully wrapping her in the cloth. It hits me in that moment how many times we've done this together, these exact motions, over and over again, burying friend after friend. We carry her back home, Carol meeting us at the gate, three shovels and the sack of mini bottles Rosita had found hours ago in hand. She leads us to a patch of grass just outside the infirmary and we dig.

The work itself is a vigil of sorts, the three of us paying our silent respects in the form of sweat and manual labor. It's not until Denise is in the ground that Daryl stops, just long enough to gulp down a mini bottle of Jack in a single swallow. He turns back to the grave, quiet fury radiating off of him in waves. I get it. The guilt. It's eating away at me, too. If we hadn't taken her out there, if we'd done this, if we'd done that… she'd still be here. She saved my life and I didn't save hers.

We shovel in tandem, watching Denise disappear forever beneath the soil.

"You were right," Carol blurts eventually, eyes on Daryl. "I knew it when you said it."

Daryl doesn't speak. None of us speak again. Not until she's buried. We can't. There's nothing left to say.

*Daryl's POV*

I'm going back tomorrow. Track those sumbitches down, finish it. There were only a few left, just Dwight and maybe four or five others. Still, there's gotta be a trail. I glance over at Adie, lying next to me. She ain't asleep yet but she ain't talking, neither. I keep thinking about what Denise said on the tracks. She didn't tell Tara she loved her 'cause she was afraid. Now she ain't never gonna get the chance.

Adie didn't even have to ask, she just knew. She knew I couldn't leave Denise's body behind, that I had to go back. She went with me. She's  _ with _ me. She's always been with me, since that day we went back to Atlanta for Merle. Even after the prison, after Beth… she found me. Or we found each other. Either way, I'd found my way back to her. Seems like decades have passed, but I remember vividly the first time I saw her.

Me and Merle were on a hunt, wandering around the woods near the Atlanta camp. We didn't even know they were there yet, we were just looking for food. We heard her before we saw her. She was with Shane and T-Dog, headed to the quarry to get water. She'd been threatening Shane, loudly, wanting him to take care of Ed.

_ Soon, Walsh. I swear to God, she's got another new bruise tomorrow, I'll drown the son of a bitch myself. _

I remember thinking how dumb she was at the time. One of them obnoxious girls you come across every once in a while, the type who run their mouths talking a big game, but when push comes to shove can't do jack shit. All bark, no bite. I was wrong. Me and Merle watched 'em, stayed hidden until Merle decided the time was right. We drove into their camp the next night, Merle on his bike and me in my truck. Adie was up like a shot, gun drawn, practically leaping over the low fire in her haste to get to us before I'd even climbed outta the truck.

Merle liked her immediately. I hated how she seemed to see right through me, that it was like she could climb into my head and pull out all the things I tried so damn hard to ignore.

"You okay?" She murmurs softly, breaking me from my reverie.

"Mhmm," I grunt, suddenly nervous she's somehow reading my thoughts. "Are you?"

She turns over, placing her head on my chest. She's not okay. I ain't okay, either, and she knows it.

"I just keep thinkin' about Tara," she sighs heavily. "When she gets back, when she finds out…"

She trails off, unable to formulate the words. Tara won't be back for another week, if she's back at all. That's the reality we live in. She might not come back, might not ever know.

"If she comes back," Adie amends, once again on the same page I am without even knowing it.

She presses her lips to my neck softly, and I can feel her tears on my skin. I should  _ tell her. _ But I don't. I just hold her until she falls asleep, counting her breaths as her chest rises and falls steadily against mine. I get to 17 before succumbing to my own exhaustion.

*Adrienne's POV*

Maggie has asked me to help her, Glenn, and Michonne to set up more watch points along our walls. Bins, as well, like we used to keep around the prison. Quick access to guns and ammo if we're attacked. And we will be. Dwight and several other Saviors fled. They're coming for us. We're gonna be as ready as we can.

"We'll have these, but we should hide a few," Maggie instructs Glenn and I as Michonne approaches.

We're standing beside a cart full of guns, a bin beside it. Michonne is late and I give her a knowing look. She averts her eyes, smiling softly, and I know I'm right in thinking she'd had some trouble tearing herself away from Rick. I'm happy for them. After so much damn heartache, they deserve some happiness.

Still, I can't help but feel a little envious. Daryl and I barely touch each other at this point. On one hand, I'm scared shitless of the possibility of getting pregnant. But on the other, I'm really starting to miss being that close to him. Being intimate was a phrase that never made sense to me before. There's nothing intimate about sex, at least I never thought so until Daryl. Now it makes sense.

"That way we can find 'em, but strangers can't," Maggie continues, checking the clip of the Glock she's holding to be sure it's full before placing it into the bin. "In case anyone gets in."

"They won't," Glenn says reassuringly.

"Not if we can help it," I add, just as an engine revs loudly.

Daryl's on his bike, peeling towards the gate. Shit.

"Oh, no," Michonne sighs heavily.

I tear off after him, reaching the gate just as he's pulling it open, Rosita looking on indignantly.

"Where are you going?" She demands.

"Out."

"No, shit," Abraham counters from the platform above the gate. "You got specifics?"

He doesn't bother with an answer. He doesn't need to, I know where he's going. This is a bad idea.

"Daryl!" I slide in front of him, blocking him before he can mount the bike. "Daryl, listen to me, please. Don't go."

He pushes past me, eyes on fire.

"Daryl!" I plead, but he won't even look at me. "There's a smarter way to do this.  _ Please. _ We can organize it-"

"You ain't my damn keeper!" He snarls, and I recoil in shock.

Then he's gone, tearing down the road away from me, smaller and smaller all the time. I'm not his  _ keeper. _ Where the hell did that come from? No, I'm not your fucking keeper, but I love you, dumbass. Another engine starts behind me, and I whirl around. Glenn and Michonne are pulling up in one of our vans. 

"Woah!" Abraham hollers, brakes squealing as he darts in front of the van. "Make room for my freckled ass!"

Taking advantage of the distraction, I hurl myself into the backseat. Maybe I'm not his damn keeper, but he's gonna get himself killed trying to do shit on his own with no one to cover his back.

"No!" Rosita barks, glaring at Abraham. "Cover my watch. You stay."

She moves to follow me into the back, but Glenn's not having it.

"Hey!" He shouts out the window. "We should keep numbers here."

"I know where Daryl's going," she snaps, sliding into the back beside me.

Glenn hesitates, staring at Maggie in the rearview. His wife and baby… my resolve cracks.

"I'll stay," I tell him. "He's goin' after the Saviors, Rosita knows where.  _ Bring him home. _ "

"We will," Glenn assures me, gratitude flashing in his eyes.

I hop out of the van and stand beside Maggie, watching as another vehicle carrying the people we love disappears into the distance.

"They'll be back," she nods, just as much for her benefit as mine.

I squeeze her hand, then climb up to the platform and wait. Abraham stands guard at the gate and Sasha hangs around, presumably to spend more time with Abe now that her shift has ended. The two of them are definitely sleeping together, and I know it's irrational, but it irks the hell outta me that she's here bullshitting with Abe instead of getting some sleep while he's on watch and she can.

Everything's quiet for maybe a half hour before Morgan approaches the gate. Carol's gone. Left a note with Tobin saying she loves us and that's why she kills for us and she can't do it, not anymore. No one can find her. He wants to know if we've seen anything. I want to know why the fuck no one I care about can just stay the fuck here. It's not that fucking hard. I stomp down from the platform, meeting Rick and Tobin as they approach.

"Rick, I took over at 12, I was on til six," Sasha informs him. "I never saw anything."

"Front's been quiet since the others left," Abraham adds.

"What?" Rick snaps. "Who?"

"Daryl," Abe says, glancing at me momentarily before turning his eyes back to Rick. "He went ICBM after the Saviors from yesterday. Glenn, Michonne, Rosita, they all went to shut that shit down."

"You didn't stop 'im?" Rick demands, glaring at me.

"You think I  _ let _ him?" I hiss, glaring right back. "I'm not his damn keeper!"

I can't help it. Daryl's words from earlier still sting like a bitch. Abe glances at me, pity filling his eyes as I angrily swipe my tears away.

"Where's the other car?" Tobin questions, squinting through the bars in the gate at the walker traps we'd put out front.

Cars, old junkers. We'd put wooden spikes through the glass. Walker skewers. They get stuck, we fire a silenced round into 'em and we're done. Don't even have to touch 'em. They're all there, plus one, if I'm not mistaken.

"What other car?" I question.

"We added two more cars yesterday," Tobin informs us. "One of 'em's missing, the one we put right between those houses."

"You can barely see between the houses from up top, especially at night," Abraham points out.

"The note, can I see it?" Morgan requests, taking the paper from Rick.

"You never saw any headlights, taillights?" Rick demands, eyeing Sasha. "She's smart enough to cover her tracks."

"She must've left during the shift change," Sasha suggests.

"Where you goin'?" Rick calls to Morgan, who had abruptly turned and walked off with the note, and is now slipping behind the wheel of the Buick that had been parked behind the van the others took.

"I'm gonna go find her," he announces over his shoulder.

"Wait!" Rick orders. "Tell Carl I'll be back soon.  _ No one else leaves. _ Adie, you're in charge. Everyone else stays ready for a fight."

"Oh, sure, then," I nod, watching Rick throw himself into Morgan's passenger seat. "Why not? Fuck it, why don't we  _ all  _ just leave?"

I stomp over to the gate, yanking it open for Morgan and Rick, seething as I watch more of my family head off down the same damn road. Daryl, Carol, Glenn, Michonne, Rosita, Rick, Morgan. I tick the names off in my head. Seven. Seven of my people are gone, and the Saviors know we're here. I glance at Abraham.

"You're the boss," he shrugs, eyeing me.

"I'm the  _ last _ person here who should be the boss," I point out with a sigh, rubbing my temples. "All right. Sasha, you got another shift in you?"

She nods, already climbing back up the platform.

"Abraham, watch the gate," I instruct. "Keep it tight. No one leaves, like Rick says. Maggie... eat somethin', you look like shit. We can take care of the bins, keep working on watch points. Tobin, I'm gonna need your help with that. Could you grab a couple hammers and some nails, meet me back here? Where's Aaron? Let's get 'im on the east wall…"

I prattle on, delivering orders and hoping like hell I'm capable of keeping this place standing while Rick's gone.

*Daryl's POV*

I'm standing in the middle of a clearing, following the Saviors' tracks, when it sinks in.  _ You ain't my damn keeper. _ That's what I told her. The look on her face, I may just as well have hit her. She would've come with me. She wouldn't've tried to talk me out of it. I don't know what came over me this morning, but I was boiling over from the moment I opened my eyes. I'm still pissed. If I'd've just killed Dwight in the first place, Denise'd still be here.

Guilt claws at my insides while I track, sweeping the ground for any sign of recent disturbance. Guilt for Denise, guilt for what I said to Adie. Seems like all I do is fuck up. Get people killed, hurt people I love. Before I can dwell too much about that, I spot someone moving in the trees. Jesus Christ. Rosita, Michonne, and Glenn. They followed me. Stupid. I ain't sure if I'm disappointed or relieved Adie ain't with 'em. Both, I guess. I fire a bolt into the tree beside Rosita, inches from her face. She glares at me, yanking the bolt from the trunk and stalking towards me.

"Watch the hell out, asshole," she snarls.

"Yeah, I did," I snap, snatching my bolt from her hand. "You shouldn't've come."

"You shouldn't've left!" Michonne fires back, the three of them assembling behind me.

"When I split off from Sasha and Abraham, he was out there in the woods, in that burned out forest with them girls, put a gun to my head!" I shout angrily. "Tied me up! I even tried to help him."

I stalk off, not caring if they follow or not. This is my fault and now they all know it, too.

"So you think it's your fault?" Glenn demands, stepping towards me as I whirl back around.

"Yeah, I know it is," I growl. "I'm gon' go do what I shoulda done before."

"What, for her?" Glenn calls after me as I walk away, again, stopping me in my tracks, again. "She's gone, man. You're doin' this for you."

"Man, I don't give a shit," I snap, but I do.

I just… I can't let it go. I know it ain't gonna bring her back.

"Daryl," he says, stepping in front of me as I try to walk away. "We need to get back there and figure this out from home.  _ Our _ home. We need you! And everyone back there needs us right now. It's… it's gonna go wrong out here and I… I promised Adie."

Her name is a punch to the gut. They need me. He says they need me. But I get people killed, get them hurt, never make the right fuckin' call.

"We'll square it," Michonne assures me. "I will. I promise you. Just come back."

"I can't," I shake my head, turning away for the last time.

"Daryl-" Glenn starts.

"Man, I can't!" I snarl, continuing my way further into the woods.

"I can't either," Rosita announces, trailing after me.

I just wanna be alone. Finish what I started, maybe atone for Denise's death. I know it ain't gonna bring her back. That ain't why I'm out here. I'm out here for redemption. Maybe I ain't gonna find it, but I can't go back, not yet. I can't leave him alive.

*Adrienne's POV*

No one is back. I'm back beside Abraham at the gate, staring pathetically down the road for the dozenth time since Rick and Morgan took off. The sun is almost directly overhead, nearly noon, and _no one_ is back. It's been hours. I should've gone after Daryl. He could be dead. They could all be dead. We haven't been attacked, yet. I didn't expect we would be, not now. I know it's coming, though. These Saviors, they're not gonna come to us in broad daylight. No. They're gonna come to us at night. Like we came to them.

I'm torn from my musings when a car comes into view. Squinting, I can make out the Buick. Morgan's not in it. I yank open the gate and Rick pulls in, Abraham and I at his side the moment he steps out of the vehicle.

"Morgan's still out there looking," he says before I can ask. "Is Michonne here?"

"She's still out there, too," Abraham informs him, the three of us turning back to stare through the gate. "You afraid to go back to it? Let somebody close?"

Well, that came outta left field. Abraham didn't know Lori, but he knows what happened to her. Seems a bit insensitive, asking Rick if he's afraid to care again when the woman he loves is still out there chasing down the man I love, but hey, why not? I snatch Abe's lit cigar from his hand, helping myself to a mouthful of smoke before handing it back to him. I've never smoked a cigar in my life, but I need something to do.

"Yeah," Rick answers him quietly, nodding to himself. "Yeah."

"Mhmm," Abraham nods. "Me, too. But now… I think I'm that much more ready to tear the world a brand new asshole."

The two men beside me chuckle, but I can't. Not yet. Not until he's back. I get it, though. Being that much more inclined to kick this world up into its own ass. I want it for all the ones I love, but I want it  _ more  _ for Daryl. He makes me stronger.

"Lighten up, Ginger," Abraham quips, nudging me and offering his cigar.

"Fuck off, Red," I mutter flatly, taking a second drag, allowing the thick smoke to swirl over my tongue despite my better judgement.

"Any second now," he says, eyes back on the street outside the gate. "Yeah. Any second."

Rick nods, trying to stay hopeful. I grab his hand and squeeze. Any second. He squeezes back, his fingers crushing mine in a vice grip. He's afraid. I'm afraid, too. There's a kind of comfort in the mutual fear. The comfort only lasts so long, though.

Someone is screaming.


	78. Then It Runs Out

**Chapter 78**

*Daryl's POV*

I don't know where I am. A metal box. A truck? Me and Rosita, we tried to get to Glenn, Michonne… Dwight, the Saviors, they had 'em. They caught 'em and it's my fault. I should've stayed. I should've stayed with Adie. We were gonna save 'em, me and Rosita, we were gonna save Glenn and Michonne. I was so sure we had the sumbitches, but we got caught, too. Jesus, everything hurts. I got shot. Dwight shot me. I might be dying. I ain't really sure.

"Man, you are screwed, little brother."

Merle's voice in my head, clear as day. Then it all goes black again.

*Adrienne's POV*

Something's happened to Maggie. Enid, Carl's maybe girlfriend, was with her, cutting her hair. She says Maggie just doubled over, then she collapsed. It can't wait. We need to get to the Hilltop, now. Dr. Carson, he can help her. We're leaving. Me, Rick, Carl, Aaron, Abraham, Sasha, and Eugene. We're gonna get her there. We have to. Gabriel is in charge. He's proven himself. He'll protect this place, he'll keep Judith safe. Just until Daryl and the others are back.

It's all gonna be okay.

After a short discussion with Gabriel and Spencer, we're off. Twenty-five miles between us and Hilltop. We're gonna get there. I'm seated on the bed in the back of the RV, Maggie's head in my lap. She's terrified. I don't have words to make it better, so I just hold her, stroking her hair softly, shielding her from most of the jarring bumps as Abraham flies down the road like a damn loon.

"Hey," Rick says softly, crouching beside Maggie.

"Hey," she echoes shakily.

"We're gonna get there," he promises. "To the doctor at the Hilltop, he's gonna make things better."

"How do you know?" Maggie questions tearily.

"Everything we've done, we've done together," Rick announces. "We got here together, and we're still here. Things've happened, but it's always worked out for us 'cause it's always been  _ all _ of us. That's how I know. 'Cause as long as it's all of us, we can do anything."

She smiles softly at that, and I marvel at the man in front of me. I've seen this guy tear out throats with his teeth. Yet, here he is, knowing exactly the words to say to keep Maggie from giving up. Kind, gentle. He's why. He's why we're a family, why we can do anything. Why it's _all_ of us.

"What the  _ bitch? _ " Abraham's frustrated exclamation reaches the back of the RV as it slows.

I slip from beneath Maggie, propping her against the pillows and heading up front to see what the hell the holdup is. Probably a tree or something, probably just need to clear the-

What the fuck?

"What the hell is this?" I hiss. "Rick!"

The road's blocked, all right. By men. Saviors. They've gotta be. They're lined up across the road, several of them. They're armed, their vehicles lined up neatly behind them.

"What?" Rick questions, emerging from the back of the RV.

"Enemy close," Abe informs him as he takes in the scene before us. "We doin' this?"

"We can't," I shake my head. "Maggie."

"No," Rick says, stepping out of the RV to confront them.

"God damn it," I groan. "We don't have time for this."

Still, we all pile out of the RV after Rick, following his lead, weapons loose in raised hands. We stop several yards from the men, eyes settling on the dying man at the apparent leader's feet. He's on the ground and he's been beaten. Badly.

"He's someone who was with a whole lotta someones who didn't listen," the leader informs us.

"We can make a deal," Rick announces, hands still raised. "Right here, right now."

"That's right," the man agrees. "We can. Give us all your stuff. We'll probably have to kill one of you, that's just the way it is, but then we can start movin' forward on business. All you have to do is listen."

"Yeah…" Rick draws out the word, cocking his weapon. "That deal's not gonna work for us. Fact is, I was about to ask for all of  _ your _ stuff, only I'm thinkin' I don't have to kill any of you. Any  _ more _ of you."

Jesus, Rick! Now is not the time to gloat. Even I know that, and I fucking  _ love _ to gloat! One of the Saviors steps forward, shaking a can of… spray paint? Spray paint. He's marking the man on the ground. He's conscious, wincing as the paint settles on his open wounds. What the hell? What's the point?

"Sorry," The Savior in charge says. "My deal is the only deal. We don't negotiate."

Rick throws up a signal, sending us all back to the RV. I walk backwards, placing my body in front of Carl's, eyeing the Saviors warily.

"Me and my people are leaving," Rick announces. 

"Okay, friend," the leader says, waving. "Plenty of ways to get to where you're goin'."

Where we're going… do they know about our ties with Hilltop? That's a threat. Why are they just letting us leave? I exchange a glance with Rick, but he just nudges me forward into the RV before turning back to address the leader one more time.

"You wanna make today your last day on Earth?" He questions, standing just outside the door.

"No," the man says, unphased. "But that is a good thing to bring up. Think about it. What if it's the last day on Earth for you? For someone you love? What if that's true? Maybe you should be extra nice to those people in that RV, 'cause you never know."

He pauses to snap his fingers.

"Just like that," he continues. "Be kind to each other. Like you said… like it was your last day on Earth."

Rick nods, considering.

"You do the same," he says, stepping into the RV and slamming the door shut behind him.

"Rick, that was too easy," I murmur as Abraham starts the engine, backing away from the men in the road.

Abraham reverses a few miles back, then pulls over so we can discuss where the fuck to go from here. I flatten the map on the table, looking for alternate routes.

"Logrun Road's a straight shot," Eugene points out.

"Too overgrown," I dismiss.

"We want visibility," Sasha agrees.

"What about Blanche?" I suggest, tapping the small crossroad just east of Logrun.

"This time of year, with the rain?" Sasha questions. "Could be flooded."

"Shit," I mutter. "You're right."

"There," Eugene says, pointing at another spot on the map. "You got visibility on Shelton. High ground. Golf course, country clubs, sloping terrain. No bum rush from the bogeyman, we'd see 'em from a good piece. It is a longer trip by a third, but we'd get the scenic safety of clear-cut dingles 'n glens."

"You're being serious, right?" Sasha questions, eyeing him uncertainly.

"He is," I sigh.

"As coronary thrombosis," Eugene confirms.

"Shelton's a good call," I admit. "Eight more miles, give or take, but it's the closest viable option."

"You got a route?" Rick questions, emerging from the back.

"Yeah," Sasha nods.

She takes the map, sitting passenger side as Abe speeds off towards Shelton. It's a slightly longer trip, but we're gonna get there. They can't block-

"Bitch nuts," Abraham murmurs, and once again I sprint for the front of the RV.

"Christ," I hiss. "We're gonna run outta daylight, Rick."

"We makin' our stand?" Sasha questions.

"Yeah," Carl says softly, his good eye squinting. "We end it."

"We can't," I say flatly. "Sun's goin' down and we're still a dozen miles out.  _ And _ we're outgunned."

"No," Rick murmurs. "Not now. They've been waiting. They're ready. With one of us behind the wheel, that's 6 on 16. We're gonna play it our way, how we want it. Right?"

He turns to Carl, who is clearly unhappy. He wants to fight. I get it. But we can't. Not here, not with Maggie.

"Right," Carl agrees begrudgingly.

"All right, go slow," Rick instructs, Abraham once again backing away.

Ten miles forward, twelve back. We're not gonna make it til after dark. That's the best case scenario. Worst case, we run out of fuel, run into more Savior blockades and can't get away.

"How are we on gas?" Rick questions, as if he's reading my thoughts.

"Half a tank," Abraham informs him. "I pulled some more cans before we left."

"Those weren't the same men who blocked the road the first time," Sasha points out.

"They're not the ones who ambushed us on the tracks, either," I add, exchanging a glance with Abraham. "The ones Daryl went after."

"Same outfit," Abraham says. "Different soldiers. They got numbers."

"Between the blockades and the ones from the tracks, we're lookin'at 35 or 40, maybe more," I nod. "So what're we gonna do about it?"

"We keep drivin'," Rick says firmly. "We get her there."

"We will," Sasha announces.

"If we have to shove each and every one of 'em up their own asses," Abraham confirms.

"And out the other end," I add, Abe snorting, the two of us exchanging a fist bump.

Then we see it. Walkers on chains, stretched across the road like a fucked up popcorn garland.

" _ Come on, _ " I groan.

"We can't go through it," Rick sighs. "Can't risk the RV. You stay behind the wheel, just in case. We'll clear it."

Everyone, with the exceptions of Abraham and Maggie, exits the RV slowly, glancing warily about, scanning the trees for any sign of the Saviors. The walkers could very well be nothing more than a distraction, a tool to get us out of our vehicle. Exposed. But it's not. No one living is here.

"Puttin' together a red rover like that takes people," Eugene observes as we approach the undead chain gang. "A lot of 'em."

"Is that Daryl's?" I question, horrified, eyeing the crossbow bolt lodged in the torso of one of our writhing foes.

"C'mon," Rick says grimly. "Let's do this."

"Dad," Carl's tone stops Rick short.

"That's Michonne's," Aaron says, nodding at two dark dreads hanging from one of the walkers' decaying skulls."

"No," I breathe, my heart feeling as though it's shrinking inside my chest, too small to continue beating. "No!"

They're dead. Daryl… Daryl's dead. I can't. I can't accept it, I can't… the enraged howl that tears itself from my throat startles even me as I hurl myself at the walker, yanking the bolt from its chest and burying it in its skull as gunfire erupts from the woods around us.

"Get back to the RV!" Rick roars. "Go!"

Like hell. Our weapons are drawn, we're fighting back. These Saviors are either terrible shots or just have bullets to waste on scare tactics. Either way, it works for us. They're shooting at our feet. Rick hacks the arm off the walker in the center, the chain splitting down the middle. I thrust my knife into skull after skull on one side, Sasha shooting down the walkers on the other.

"Start it up!" Abraham roars, Eugene behind the wheel as we all pile back inside and peel off.

The moment we're on the move, I collapse to the floor, holding Daryl's arrow tight against my chest and sobbing relentlessly. Oh, god, he could be dead. I might never see him again. I should've gone with him.  _ I should have gone with him. _ As always, there's no time to mourn. Something in the RV squeals and I have to pull myself together.

"What's that sound?" Sasha questions.

"Undercarriage could've caught a bullet," Eugene replies. "Or could be transmission. It could be nothin'."

"They were firing at our feet," Rick points out, helping me up.

His eyes meet mine and I know he's feeling it, too. He's holding Michonne's hair in his hands, pain showing only in his eyes. He's stronger than me. He keeps himself locked up tight, saving his emotions for later, dealing with the task at hand first. Always. I wish I was like him, that I could find it in me to set shit aside until we're out of danger. But my emotions are like a riptide, every stuttering breath I force myself to take filling my lungs with more water as the current sweeps me away.

"They blocked the road, but they weren't tryin' to stop us," Rick continues. "They want us in this direction."

"Barton Road takes us north," Sasha tells him. "But they gotta know we wanna go north."

"Meadows," I croak, glancing over Eugene's shoulder at the map. 

"Could take us east a piece," he muses. "But we can get back on track on Mayhew."

"We're down to a third of a tank," Sasha points out. "We could top off at the next stop, but no refills after that."

"All right," Rick nods as Aaron makes his way from the back.

"She's burning up," he announces.

"Rick," Abe says sharply, drawing everyone's attention to the next blockade.

Twenty, thirty men this time. Maybe more. There's no getting through this way. Meadows is no longer an option. We're running out of light.

"Go back," Rick instructs.

"Where?" Abraham questions flatly.

Back the way we came. There's nowhere else to go. We pick another route, but it's also a dead end. Logs, a massive pile, thirty, forty feet long, piled at least fifteen feet high. There's no getting through here, either.

"These tracks…" Eugene observes, taking in the massive, black treadmarks in front of the blockade. "They would indicate they not only have people, but some big ass toys and capabilities."

"What it  _ indicates _ is we are neck deep up shit creek with our mouths  _ wide _ open," Abe growls angrily.

Before anyone can even pretend to disagree, someone is screaming. The man from the first group of Saviors, the one they'd marked with the spray paint. He's been tossed over the edge of the overpass behind us, a rusted metal chain forming a noose around his neck. Aaron aims to shoot, maybe put the man out of his misery. Surely he doesn't think we can save him.

"Don't," Abe warns.

"I can try and break the chain," Aaron says desperately.

"It won't work," Abe points out.

"I can try!" Aaron cries.

" _ It won't work. _ " Rick echoes Abraham. "And we need the bullets."

All we can do is stand here and watch the man die. We have no choice. It takes a few minutes, but he eventually goes limp, no longer struggling to breathe. Brain dead. But not gone. Not yet. Suddenly, the wooden roadblock goes up in flames.

"You're treatin' your people good, right?" The leader of that first group of Saviors shouts from behind the burning logs. "Like it was your last day on Earth? Or maybe one of theirs? You better go. It's gonna get hot. You go get where you're goin'."

"Go," Rick murmurs. "Go. Get on."

So we do. We get back in the RV, backtracking  _ again, _ out of options, out of hope, almost out of daylight, and damn near out of fuel.


	79. Right Off The Bat

**Chapter 79**

"So what's the play?" Abraham questions as we sit down, once again, to plot. 

"She needs a doctor," Rick sighs heavily, his forehead creasing with worry.

"There are two more routes north from here," Sasha announces.

"They don't know where we're goin'," I point out, twirling Daryl's bolt in my hand nervously. "If they knew we're headed to Hilltop, they wouldn't waste their resources blockin' all the roads, they'd just meet us there. But they don't, so they're tag teamin' us instead, blockin' us off at every corner 'til we get where they want us to be."

"They're probably waiting for us right now," Aaron agrees.

"So they're ahead of us, probably behind us," Eugene says. "But they're not waitin' on  _ us, _ per se, they're waitin' on this rust bucket."

"Motherfucker," I breathe, the bolt spinning in my hand ceasing abruptly. "That's it!"

"They don't know the moment to moment occupancy of said rust bucket," he continues, seemingly encouraged at my understanding. "The sun sets soon."

Abraham and I exchange a glance as what Eugene's proposing dawns on him, the two of us turning to Rick. He's nodding, thinking it over. It's our best shot. He knows that. Someone stays with the RV, drives it west once the sun sets. The rest of us carry Maggie north, through the woods. We're still several miles out. It'll be dangerous, but it's the only way. And we can do it. We have to. Not just for Maggie, but for Glenn. I have to keep my head on straight. For Daryl… I can't think about him right now. Later.

I dig deep, steeling myself, rooting around in my consciousness for that piece of me that still remembers how to shut it all out. How to become someone else, how to escape the way I feel. It's the only way I'm gonna be any help to Maggie. Carl takes hold of my hand and squeezes, glancing up at me. It's time.

"Thank you," Maggie says weakly, looking up at Eugene as we carefully pull her from the RV.

She's flat on the mattress pad, covered with a blanket. We're gonna carry her through the night. We'll get her there, and her baby is gonna be just fine.

"Eugene," I say softly, turning to the man before we leave. "I was wrong about you. Give 'em hell."

His face breaks into a genuine smile despite the fear in his eyes. I pat him on the shoulder and we head out, fleeing into the woods.

-

Carl's running ahead, just a few steps, taking out any walkers in our path. I'm bringing up the rear, watching our back and sides.

"I heard what you told her when we were leaving," Carl says breathlessly, eyeing Rick. "We  _ can  _ do anything, 'cause we'll do anything we need to do. We have and we will."

I break rank, thrusting my knife into an approaching walker and returning to my place just behind Abraham. Carl's right. We've done… insane things to keep the people we love alive. But I can't think too much about that. I can't think of  _ him. _ I keep moving, one foot in front of the other. Hilltop. That's all that matters right now. Get Maggie to Hilltop.

"What happened to Denise… I'm not gonna let anybody die like that again," Carl continues. 

"Son…" Rick trails off.

"What?" Carl questions, but before Rick can formulate a response, something else breaks the silence.

Whistles. Human whistles, echoing eerily through the darkened wood, bouncing around the air, impossible to pinpoint. Then we see them, several men prowling about in the shadows. They're not shooting at us. Not yet.

"Run!" I cry, voice breaking.

We lunge forward, Rick and Abraham holding tight to each end of Maggie's improvised stretcher as Aaron and Sasha break free, pulling their guns. Carl's still up front, I'm still in the rear, Maggie protected on all sides as we fly through the forest. A blinding light illuminates the darkness, the ground turning hard beneath our feet as we stumble into a clearing. The whistles swell into a hellish chorus, dozens upon dozens of Saviors surrounding us from all sides. Jesus, there's hundreds...

We've been herded, the light searing our retinas coming from the highbeams of a litany of vehicles blocking us in. And at the center of it all, Eugene. On his knees, several feet from the RV. There is no way out.

"Good," the leader of the first group of Saviors says soothingly, stepping into the clearing with a wide smile. "You made it. Welcome to where you're goin'."

Is this… Negan?

"We'll take your weapons," he continues, pulling a gun from the holster on his belt and pointing it at Carl. "Now."

"We can talk about-" Rick starts shakily, realizing the futility of our situation.

"We're done talking," the man interrupts, any hint of congeniality wiped from his face. "Time to listen."

At that, he and several other Saviors converge upon us, two each, relieving us of our weapons. All of them.

"That's yours, right?" The man questions Carl, holding the gun he'd just taken from the boy's hands. "Yeah, it's yours."

He leans forward and flicks the brim of Carl's hat, the sheriff's hat he still wears after all this time.

"Don't touch him!" I snarl, coiled and ready to snap the man's arm off.

"Okay," he chuckles, smiling softly as he backs away from Carl, eyes landing on Maggie. "Let's get her down and get you all on your knees. Lots to cover."

"Hold up," Abraham says gruffly as two Saviors approach Maggie's stretcher. "We got it."

"Sure, sure," the man in charge waves his men off, allowing Rick, Abraham, Sasha and Aaron to gently place Maggie on the ground.

Abraham and Rick pull her to her feet, helping her forward. She looks like a ghost already. She sinks to her knees, Abraham by her side, as we all form a half circle around her.

"Gonna need you on your knees," the leader says, stepping towards Rick as two of his men drag Eugene over to us.

Rick hesitates, staring around, face slack with terror, eyes vacant. For the first time all night, he's truly terrified. He drops to his knees. It's over. The others follow, and I hesitate a second too long. One of the Saviors behind me shoves me roughly towards Abraham, forcing me to my knees beside him. 

"Keep your hands off me, you fuckin' prick!" I spit, earning a backhand from the man before he shuffles back into the ranks.

Blood trickles into my mouth from my split lip, the sharp tang of salt and rust on my tongue. Abe glances at me, terror in his icy blue eyes. We're dead. All of us.

"Dwight!" The leader barks.

"Yeah," Dwight replies, stepping from the shadows.

"Chop-chop."

Dwight strides over to a utility truck and opens the back doors with a flourish. What the hell's in there? Weapons? Walkers?

"Come on," he commands. "You got people to meet."

I don't know whether to laugh or to cry. Hysteria bubbles up in my throat, but I manage to keep my mouth shut. Daryl. Hurt, but alive. Breathing. Michonne, Rosita, and Glenn, too. They're alive. At least for now.

"Maggie?" Glenn chokes out, taking in the state of his sick wife.

"On your knees!" Dwight orders, forcing Glenn to the ground.

We're in a line running parallel to the RV parked before us. Glenn on one end, then Rosita, Daryl, Michonne, me, Abraham, Maggie, Rick, Sasha, Aaron, Carl, and Eugene. My eyes snap to Daryl's, hot tears sliding down my cheeks. What have they done to him? He's bloody and trembling, the fear I feel mirrored in his eyes. He's been shot.

"All right!" The leader crows happily. "We got a full boat. Let's meet the man."

What man? The leader, whom I'd assumed was the head honcho of this whole thing, raps twice on the side of the RV. Then another man steps out. Negan. He's not a ghost. He's not a bogeyman. He's absolutely real, standing right before our very eyes.

"Pissin' our pants yet?" He questions, stepping towards us. "Boy, do I have a feelin' we're gettin' close."

As he moves from the shadow of the RV, I catch sight of the weapon in his hand. A wooden baseball bat, resting over his shoulder, the barbed wire wrapped around the end flashing ominously in the glow of the headlights. Jesus's words suddenly echo in my head.

_ We needed to understand, right off the bat. _

"Yep," he murmurs, stalking towards us with a grin. "Gonna be pee-pee pants city here real fuckin' soon. Which one of you pricks is the leader?"

"It's this one," the man I had formerly assumed to be Negan offers, pointing to Rick. "He's the guy."

"Hi," Negan smiles, sighing as he stops just before Rick. "You're Rick, right? I'm Negan. And I  _ do not _ appreciate you killin' my men. Also, when I sent my people to kill your people for killin' my people, you killed  _ more  _ of my fuckin' people. Not cool.  _ Not  _ cool. You have no idea how not cool that shit is. But I think you're gonna be up to speed shortly. Yeah. You are so gonna regret crossin' me in a few minutes."

If we somehow get out of this, if by some miracle… I am gonna shove this man's baseball bat right up his ass.

"Yes you fuckin' are," Negan continues, grinning. "You see, Rick, whatever you do, no matter what, you don't mess with the new world order. And the new world order is this, and it's really very simple. So, even if you're stupid, which you very well may fuckin' be, you can understand it. You ready? Here goes. Pay attention."

He swings his bat down from his shoulder, every muscle in my body tensing as the weapon stops just short of Rick's face.

"Give me your shit… or I will kill you," he murmurs, turning and beginning to pace along in front of us. "Today was career day. We invested  _ a lot  _ so you would know who the fuck  _ I  _ am and what I can do. You work for me now. You have shit, you give it to me. That's your job. Now, I know that is a mighty big,  _ nasty _ pill to swallow, but swallow it... you most  _ certainly _ fuckin' will."

Negan's eyes meet mine for a moment, his smirk growing even more self satisfied as he lets the double entendre of his words hang in the air for a brief moment before turning his gaze back to Rick.

"You ruled the roost," he says conversationally, as though he's shooting the breeze with an old friend. "Biggest cock in the fuckin' henhouse, right? You built something. You thought you were safe. I get it. But… the word is out.  _ You are not safe. _ Not even close. In fact, you are fucked,  _ more _ fucked if you don't do what I want. And what I want is half your shit. And if that's  _ too fuckin' much, _ you can make, find, or  _ steal _ more, and it'll even out sooner or later."

Even out… meaning people will die. Our people. We won't have the mouths to feed, and the less mouths to feed, the less supplies we'll require. Sadistic son of a bitch.

"This is your way of life now," Negan continues, really enjoying the sound of his own voice. "The more you fight back, the harder it will be. So, if someone knocks on your door… you let us in. We  _ own  _ that fuckin' door. You try to stop us and we will knock that shit down. You understand?"

Rick is silent. In shock, tears pouring steadily from his unseeing eyes. I know he's trying to figure out where it all went wrong, how we've managed to end up here. No one speaks. No one moves. Hell, we hardly breathe.

"What, no answer?" Negan demands. "You didn't really think that you were gonna get through this without bein' punished, now, did you? I don't wanna kill you people. Just wanna make that clear from the get-go. I want you to work for me. You can't do that if you're dead, now, can you?"

There's a possibility, a slim,  _ slim _ chance we're getting outta this alive. If we can just make it through this, get the hell back home, play nice for a while until we can take our lives back…

"I'm not growin' a garden," Negan says, shaking his head at the very thought of getting dirt under his fingernails. "But… you killed my people, a whole fuckin' lot of 'em. More than I'm comfortable with. And for that... for that you're gonna pay. So, now… I'm gonna beat the holy fuckin'  _ hell _ outta one of you."

No. My blood turns to ice, my heart thundering in my chest. No, no, no… let it be me. I don't believe in God, that ship sailed long ago, but if there is anything,  _ anything _ out there listening…  _ please, _ let him kill me. Let the others live.

"This…" Negan says sharply, twirling the bat in his hands. "This is Lucille, and she is fuckin' _ awesome. _ All this… all this is just so we can pick out which one of you gets the honor."

He stops before Abraham, who straightens up, refusing to back down, staring defiantly into the eyes of the man with the bat.

"Huh," Negan cocks his head to one side, roughly raking his free hand over his stubble. "Ugh. I gotta shave this shit."

He lopes away from Abraham, swaggering towards Carl. I can't breathe. Don't take Carl.

"You got one of our guns," Negan addresses the boy, crouching down before him. "Woah… yeah. You got a lotta our guns. Shit, kid, lighten up. At least cry a little."

Carl gives him nothing, and my terror is momentarily replaced with pride. But just for a second. Negan chuckles, rising to his full height and pacing back down the row once more, this time stopping in front of Maggie.

"Jesus," he says, dragging out the word. "You look  _ shitty. _ I should just put you outta your misery right now."

He rears back, but Glenn lurches forward, Dwight right on his heels.

"No!" He roars, desperately trying to get to Maggie, despite Dwight now landing blow after blow on his body. "No!

"Stop it!" Maggie cries.

Dwight presses Daryl's crossbow against Glenn's chest, Negan whirling on his heel, turning away from Maggie.

"Nope!" He announces. "Nope, get 'im back in line."

Dwight drags Glenn back into his place, Glenn kicking and sobbing the whole way.

"Don't!" He cries, pleading with Negan. "Don't."

"All right, listen," Negan chuckles. "Don't  _ any  _ of you do that again. I will shut that shit the fuck down, no exceptions. First one's free. It's an emotional moment, I get it."

No one moves. No one speaks. This is the first time we've come up against something we can't fight. We can't save each other, not this time.

"Sucks, don't it?" Negan smirks down at Rick. "The moment you realize you don't know shit."

Everything is silent for a moment, Negan's eyes flickering from Rick to Carl and back, recognition dawning upon his face.

"This is your kid, right?" He questions, chuckling delightedly as he moves towards Carl. "This is  _ definitely  _ your fuckin' kid!"

"Just stop this!" Rick snarls.

"Hey!" Negan roars. "Do  _ not  _ make me kill the little future serial killer. Don't make it  _ easy _ on me! I gotta pick somebody. Everybody's at the fuckin' table, waitin' for me to order."

He begins to pace again, whistling, enjoying his sick little game.

"I simply cannot decide," he chuckles, eyes lingering on mine. "It all looks  _ delicious. _ I got an idea."

He lets out another chuckle, then moves forward, pointing the bat at Rick.

"Eenie…" he murmurs, turning abruptly.

"Meenie…" he points at Maggie.

"Miney…" this time at Abraham.

"Mo…" 

Michonne.

"Catch." 

Glenn.

"A tiger." 

Daryl.

"By…"

Rosita.

"His toe."

Sasha.

"If…"

Me.

"He hollers…"

Aaron.

"Let 'im go."

Carl.

"My mother…"

Eugene.

"Told me to pick the very best one and you are…"

Carl, Daryl, Aaron, Michonne, Eugene, Maggie, Rick, Rosita, Carl, me, Sasha, Abraham, Daryl, Glenn…

"It."

The bat lands on me, and I'm flooded with gratitude. They get to live. It's gonna be okay. 

"Anybody moves, anybody says anything, cut the boy's other eye out 'n feed it to his father and  _ then  _ we'll start. You can breathe, you can blink, you can cry. Hell… you're all gonna be doin' that."

He rears back, and I brace myself for the end. This is what I wanted.  _ They get to live. _ That's all that matters. I'm ready to go if it means they can stay. A split second later, the bat connects with a sickening crack.


	80. No Exceptions

**Chapter 80**

Blood is dripping down his face. No. It was supposed to be me.  _ It was supposed to be me! _

"Ho!" Negan cries. "Look at that! Takin' it like a fuckin'  _ champ! _ "

"Suck… my… nuts," Abraham spits, somehow still upright.

Negan brings the bat down over his head. Again. Again. Again. I can't differentiate between the feral sobs leaving my own throat and the same sounds coming from the others. Each swing of the bat lands with a gut churning, wet thunk. Abraham is  _ gone. _ But still the bat flies, the hollow sound of wood, of metal scraping against bone echoing, ricocheting around my ears and down my spine.

"Did you hear that?" Negan demands breathlessly, twirling the now bloody bat merrily, chuckling. "He said _ 'suck my nuts.' _ "

The blows keep landing, the rush of air in the wake of Negan's bat cooling the blood splashed across my face with each swing. Abraham's blood. My ears are ringing. It was  _ supposed  _ to be me. Negan stops only when what's left of Abraham's head is an indistinguishable stain on the ground.

"Oh, my goodness!" He crows triumphantly. "Look at this!"

He swings the bat once more, cackling as more blood flies across the clearing.

"You guys!" He cries. "Look at my dirty girl!"

I'm in shock. I was ready. It was supposed to be me. Why? Why did he change his mind? It was  _ supposed to be me. _

"Sweetheart…" he murmurs softly, thrusting the bat towards Rosita. "Lay your eyes on this. Oh, damn… were you, were you together?"

It was supposed to be me. Rosita can't look, her broken eyes glued to the ground.

"That fuckin' sucks," Negan continues, watching Rosita's tears fall. "But if you were, you should know there was a  _ reason  _ for all this. Red-"

He stops, glancing at my hair with a chuckle.

"Not you, Little Red," he grins, lifting the hair from my shoulder with the slick, dripping bat, then letting the bloody curls fall back against my cheek. "Big Red."

He points the bat at Abraham's body.

"And hell, he was, is, and will  _ ever be red, _ " he continues tauntingly. "He just took one or six or seven for the fuckin' team! So  _ take a damn look. _ "

Rosita sobs, trembling, refusing to look. It was supposed to be me.

"Take a damn look!" Negan roars.

Daryl grunts, suddenly springing to his feet and launching himself at Negan, landing a hard right hook to his face that sends the man reeling before two Saviors restrain him.

"No!" I choke out, Rick and I lurching forward as the two Saviors begin beating on him, ruthlessly. "Stop!  _ Please! _ "

"No!" Negan roars, thrusting the bat first into my face, then Rick's. "Oh, no."

I freeze, terror coursing through my veins, watching Daryl struggle against the two men restraining him, his chest now flush with the ground. I'm vaguely aware that I'm trembling, violently, as though my bones trying to shake themselves free of my skin. He can't die. He can't, I can't watch this, I can't lose him I can't, I can't, I  _ can't… _ I silently plead and bargain with any and every entity ever to exist in the fucking cosmos. Don't take him from me.

"That?" Negan points his bat at Daryl, crouching beside him. "That… is a no-no. The whole fuckin' thing, not  _ one bit  _ of that shit flies here."

I lock eyes with Daryl. If this is the last time, I just hope he knows how fucking much I love him. He has to know that. He holds my gaze unflinchingly, even as Dwight places his own crossbow against the back of his head.

"Do you want me to do it?" Dwight asks eagerly. "Right here."

Negan grabs a fistful of Daryl's hair, yanking his head back and forcing his eyes away from me.

"No," Negan says, releasing Daryl. "No, you don't kill this... not until you fuckin' try a little."

With that, Dwight and the other two nameless Saviors drag Daryl back into the line.

"And anyway…" Negan announces, rising. "That's not how it works. Now, I already told you people. First one's free. Then… what'd I say? I said I would shut that shit down! No exceptions. Now I don't know what kinda lyin' assholes you been dealin' with… but I'm a man of my word. First impressions are  _ fuckin' important. _ I need you... to know me. So…"

He hefts the bat high, wheeling abruptly and swinging.

"Back to it!"

The guttural cry that wrenches itself free from my body is nothing, a mere  _ hiccup, _ in comparison to the shriek that escapes Maggie when the bat swings down and lands on the top of Glenn's head.

"No!" She roars, collapsing in on herself, staring in horror at Glenn's face.

He'd been hit with brutal ferocity. His eye is rolling, free of its socket, while he tries to speak. I feel as though all the air is gone, a vacuum hose slithering down my throat, stealing the wind from my lungs.

"Buddy, you still there?" Negan goads, leaning down to observe his handiwork. "I just don't know. It seems like you're tryin' to speak, but you just took  _ a helluva  _ hit! I just popped your skull so fuckin' hard, your eyeball just popped out! And it is fuckin'  _ gross  _ as _ shit! _ "

"M-m-maggie, I'll fi-find you," Glenn sputters, his body twitching while he struggles to remain upright.

"Oh…" Negan breathes, faux sympathy dripping from his voice. "Oh, hell… I can see this is hard on you guys. I am sorry. I  _ truly  _ am. But I did say it. No exceptions!"

The bat comes down again. Over and over and over and over… I can't watch. I fold over, sobbing into the dirt, ears ringing, mind going numb with grief. My hand finds Michonne's on the ground and it's the touch of her skin against mine that keeps me tethered to this plane of existence, keeps me from spiraling into the gentle void where reality becomes fiction, becomes nothing at all.

"You buncha pussies…" Negan's voice floats into my brain. "I'm just gettin' started. Lucille is thirsty! She is a  _ vampire _ bat!"

He's laughing.  _ He's laughing. _ Then the blows stop landing, nothing left but the helpless sobs of my people. I raise my eyes, taking in the heinous scene before me. Two of my brothers, two of the people I lived and breathed for, men I loved and respected and would _ kill  _ and _ die  _ for… gone.

"What?" Negan demands breathlessly. "Was the joke that bad?"

"I'm gonna kill you," Rick breathes.

But it's over. The fight, right here, right now,  _ this fight… _ it's over. Negan strolls forward, crouching before Rick.

"What?" He questions, unphased. "I didn't quite catch that. You're gonna have to speak up."

"Not today…" Rick murmurs. "Not tomorrow… but I'm gonna kill you."

Negan eyes him for a moment, sucking on his teeth, considering the man before him. On his knees, two of his people dead, but still not broken. Not yet.

"Jesus," Negan murmurs, chuckling softly. "Simon… what did he have, a knife?"

"Uh, he had a hatchet," Simon, the man I'd mistaken for Negan, informs him.

"A hatchet?" Negan questions derisively.

"He had an ax," Simon clarifies, and Negan lets out another chuckle.

"Simon's my right hand man," he informs Rick. "Havin' one of those is important. I mean, what do you have left without 'em? A whole fuckin' lotta work. Do you have one? Maybe one of these fine people still breathin'? Oh… or did I…"

He trails off, holding up the bloody bat and clicking his tongue.

"Sure," he sighs. "Yeah. Gimme his fuckin' ax."

Simon rushes forward, placing the hatchet in Negan's outstretched hand. Negan tucks it into his belt, rising to stand above Rick once more. Then he pulls Rick up from the ground, jerking him sharply forward by the shoulder.

"I'll be right back," he announces, dragging Rick to the RV. "Maybe Rick'll be with me. And if not, well, we can just turn these people inside out, won't we? I mean… the ones that're left."

He and Rick disappear into the RV, the engine roaring to life and rumbling into the distance, carrying another of my brothers away. Something inside me snaps, a rubber band inside my brain, and I collapse in on myself, willing this living nightmare away. I stare blankly ahead, watching without seeing as dawn breaks upon us.

-

"Here we are," Negan's voice rings out, and I'm suddenly thrust back into reality.

Though it must have been hours before the RV returns, in my head it registers as just seconds.

Negan shoves Rick unceremoniously to the ground. He's alive. Somewhere in my mind I know I should feel relieved, but I can't feel anything beyond the all consuming grief.

"Lemme ask you somethin', Rick," Negan begins. "Do you even know what that little trip was about?"

Rick is in shock. We're all in shock, barely functioning beyond basic instinct at this point. He says nothing.

"Speak when you're spoken to," Negan chides.

"Okay," Rick says breathlessly, crazed eyes searching for whatever answer won't get anyone else killed. "Okay."

"That trip was about the way that you looked at me," Negan tells him, adopting the air of a mother explaining why her child is grounded. "I wanted to change that. I wanted you to understand. But you're still lookin' at me the same fuckin' way… like I  _ shit _ in your scrambled eggs, and that's not gonna work. So…"

He pauses, still armed with that goddamned bat, crouching beside Rick.

"Do I give you another chance?" He questions.

"Yeah," Rick says shakily, still on his knees. "Yes. Yes."

"Okay," Negan says agreeably, clapping Rick on the back and hopping back to his feet. "All right. And here it is, the grand prize game. What you do next will decide whether your shitty day becomes everyone's  _ last  _ shitty day or just another shitty day. Get some guns to the back of their heads."

For a split second, I think about it. I think about fighting, about taking out the man with his muzzle pressed to the back of my skull, making my exit. Going down with a fight, suicide by Savior. An end to the seemingly endless well of agony inside me. It was supposed to be me. But I can't do that. Not now. If I die here today, it sure as hell will  _ not  _ be my choice. Abraham and Glenn didn't get one. And it wouldn't be me. Negan's made that clear, that's not how it works. If I fight now, someone else dies.

_ It was supposed to be me. _

"Good," Negan murmurs. "Now… level with their noses, so if you have to fire…" he trails off, imitating an explosion like a goddamn ten year old. "It'll be a real fuckin' mess," he finishes, turning his gaze to Carl. "Kid… right here."

He motions with his index finger, indicating a spot on the ground beside Rick. Carl doesn't move.

"Kid… now," he commands.

If I had any tears left to cry, I would be. The air pricks at my tired, dry eyes as Carl draws level with Negan.

"You a southpaw?" Negan demands, pulling his belt from around his waist.

"Am I a what?" Carl asks sharply, and once again, despite the horror surrounding me, I find myself proud of the incredibly brave man Carl's become.

"You a lefty?" Negan clarifies, inching closer to him.

"No," he hisses, his tone turning the monosyllabic word into an emphatic 'fuck you'.

"Good," Negan says, looping the belt around Carl's left bicep and cinching it tight. "That hurt?"

"No," Carl repeats, staring defiantly at the evil prick before him.

"Should," Negan informs him. "It's supposed to. All right. Get down on the ground, kid, next to daddy. Spread them wings!"

He licks his lip, plucking the hat from Carl's head and tossing it over his shoulder as Carl sinks to his knees beside Rick. Negan pushes him down further, pressing Carl so he's flat against the ground, chest down.

"Simon… you got a pen?" Negan demands, straightening.

"Yeah," Simon says, squinting at his boss while he fumbles around his pockets, producing a marker and tossing it to Negan.

He catches it, popping the cap off and holding it between his teeth as he crouches beside Carl. He's gonna take Carl's arm.

"Sorry, kid," he says, pushing Carl's sleeve up and drawing a solid, black line halfway between his wrist and the crease of his elbow. "This is gonna be as cold as a warlock's fuckin' ballsack, just like he was hangin' his ballsack above you and draggin' it right across the forearm. There you go. Gives you a little leverage."

"Please," Rick begs. " _ Please. _ Please don't. Please don't."

"Me?" Negan questions smugly, then it hits me.

This is the test, the game. Rick has a choice. Cut off Carl's arm, prove he can comply… or we all get our brains blown out.

"I ain't doin' shit," Negan chuckles, getting to his feet. "Rick, I want you to take your ax… cut your son's left arm off, right on that fuckin' line. Now I know, I know. You're gonna have to process that for a second. That makes sense. Still, though. I'm gonna need you to do it, or  _ all  _ these people are gonna die. Then Carl dies, then the people back home die, and  _ then _ you. Eventually. I'm gonna keep you breathin' for a few years, just so you can stew on it."

"You, you don't have to do this," Michonne breaks, begging Negan. "We understand.  _ We understand. _ "

" _ You _ understand," Negan says pointedly. "Yeah. I'm not sure that  _ Rick  _ does. I'm gonna need a clean cut, right there on that line."

It's an impossible choice. It's  _ Carl. _ This whole time, everything Rick has done, every man he's killed, every sacrifice he's made, it's all been for Carl. All of it.

"Now, I know this is a fucked up thing to ask, but it's gonna have to be like a salami slice," Negan continues, his attention back on the father and son pair at his feet. "Nothin' messy, clean, 45 degrees, give us somethin' to fold over. We got a great doctor. The kid'll be fine. Probably."

It's an  _ impossible _ choice. I watch Rick, his body trembling, his eyes wild. This. This is what brings him down, after everything he's been through.

"Rick," Negan sighs, crouching beside him, crimson end of his bat hovering over Carl's face. "This needs to happen now. Chop, chop. Or… I will crush the little fella's skull myself."

"It can… it can, it can be me," Rick stammers desperately. "It can be me. What, what, what… you, you can do it to me. I, I can, I can go with, with you."

"No," Negan says dismissively, getting back to his feet. "This is the only way. Rick, pick up the ax. Not making a decision is a  _ big  _ decision. You really wanna see all these people die? You will. You will see  _ every ugly thing. _ "

Rick is sobbing, tearlessly. Somehow, the absence of tears makes it that much harder to witness.

"Oh, my god. Are you gonna make me count?" Negan demands. "Okay, Rick. You win. I am  _ counting. _ Three!"

Rick dissolves, crumbling while he begs, his mind fracturing before our very eyes, unable to make the choice.

"Two!" Negan barks, unmoved, slapping Rick in the face and holding his head in place by his jaw. "This is it."

Rick breaks, releasing a series of terrible, guttural sobs, eyes flickering frantically between his hatchet and his son.

"One!" Negan roars, just as Rick's fingers curl around the handle of the blade.

"Dad!" Carl murmurs, watching his father tear himself apart from the inside out. "Just do it. Just do it."

Rick raises the hatchet, face contorting with rage, grief, guilt, everything all rolled into one anguished mask. Ready to make a decision that would  _ destroy _ him to save us all. It's unbearable, seeing him like this. He starts to swing, and I brace myself for Carl's screams, then it's over.

"Rick," Negan grabs him by the arm, stopping him just before the blade can slice through the air, cleaving Carl's arm in two. "You answer to me. You provide for me. You  _ belong  _ to me. Right?"

Rick nods frantically, hyperventilating, hanging onto Negan's every word as though God himself is speaking even as he struggles to process what's happened. He's broken.

"Speak when you're spoken to!" Negan roars, once again grabbing Rick by the jaw, forcing him to look into his eyes. "You answer to me!"

"Yes!" Rick cries.

"You provide for me!" Negan shouts.

"Provide for you," Rick echoes desperately.

"You belong to me, right?!" Negan demands.

"Right," Rick whispers.

" _ Right, _ " Negan repeats triumphantly, releasing Rick's face from his grasp. "That… is the look I wanted to see."

He's back on his feet, Rick's hatchet in one hand, his bat in the other.

"We did it…" he muses, addressing the entire group once more. "All of us, together. Even the dead guys on the ground. Hell, they get the  _ spirit _ award for sure! Today was a productive fuckin' day! Now I hope, for all your sake… that you get it now. That you  _ understand _ how things work. Things've changed. Whatever you had goin' for you… that is over now."

He chuckles, beaming at us like a teacher gazing upon his star pupils.

"Ah…" he sighs happily. "Dwight. Load him up."

He points his bat at Daryl, and the wind is knocked out of me. I can't breathe. I can't speak. I lurch forward, sobbing helplessly as I watch them throw Daryl into the back of a van, disappearing from sight.

" _ No! Please, _ " I sob, trying to crawl towards the van, get to Daryl before he's gone. " _ Please! _ "

But Michonne is holding me back, her arms around my waist, my body heaving with sobs, fresh tears I didn't know I had in me tumbling from my eyes and splashing into the dirt beneath my hands.

"He's got guts," Negan smirks, crouching and staring pointedly at Rick. "Not a little bitch like  _ someone _ I know. I like 'im. He's mine now. But you still wanna try somethin'?  _ 'Not today, not tomorrow.' _ Not today, not tomorrow, I will cut pieces off of…" he trails off, confusion clouding his face. "Hell's his name?"

"Daryl," Simon volunteers.

"Wow," Negan laughs. "That actually sounds  _ right. _ I will cut pieces off of Daryl and put 'em on your fuckin' doorstep,  _ or, _ better yet, I will bring him to you and have  _ you  _ do it for me."

He chuckles and sighs in self satisfaction as he claps Rick on the back, then gets back to his feet.

"Welcome to a brand new beginning, you sorry shits!" He crows. "I'm gonna leave you a truck. Keep it. Use it to cart all the shit you're gonna find me. We'll be back for our first offerin' in one week. Until then… ta-ta."

He turns to walk away, his men following suit. Just like that. Then they're gone.  _ Daryl's _ gone. Abraham and Glenn are dead. And we're broken. All of us.


	81. Who Are You?

**Chapter 81**

Maggie is the first to rise from the ground. It takes some effort, more effort than such a simple task should ever take, but she pushes through her exhaustion, her pain, her illness, her crushing grief… and she  _ stands. _

"Maggie," Rick breathes, getting to his feet. "Maggie. Maggie… you need to sit down. Maggie."

"No," she says firmly, eyes locked on Glenn's body.

"We need to get you to the Hilltop," Rick says.

"You need to go get ready," she counters.

"For what?" Rick questions quietly.

"To fight them," Maggie says emphatically.

I can't speak. We can't fight them. Not when they have…

"They have Daryl," Rick says gently. "They have an  _ army. _ We would die, all of us."

"Go home," Maggie says, breath hitching as she struggles to stay standing. "Take  _ everybody _ with you. I can get there by myself."

"You can barely stand up," Rick says, reaching for her.

"I need to go," she sobs. " _ You _ need to go to Alexandria. You were out… out here for me."

"We still are," Rick points out.

"I can make it now," she insists. "I need you to go back, I can't have you out here, I can't have you all out here anymore. I need you to go back."

She thinks this is her fault. I pull myself to my feet, blocking her path as she attempts to shuffle away from us. She raises her eyes to mine, and they're hollow. There's nothing anyone can say. I can't touch her. I can't speak. I just stand there, wordlessly, tears flowing freely down my own cheeks, in her way.

"Maggie," Michonne says, standing. "We're not lettin' you go. Okay?"

"You have to," Maggie says flatly, eyes on the ground.

"It's not gonna happen," Rick says quietly.

"I'm taking her," Sasha says, putting her hand gently on my shoulder, staring into my eyes. "I'm gonna get her there. I'm gonna keep her safe."

I dip my head and step out of the way as she turns to Maggie.

"I'm not giving you a choice," she says softly.

"I'm taking him with me," Maggie sobs, falling to her knees beside Glenn's body.

Sasha crosses towards Rosita, who still hasn't moved from her place on the ground beside Abraham's body.

"I'm gonna take him," Sasha whispers tearfully. "That's what I'm gonna do."

Rosita lets out a sob, tears spilling from her eyes as she nods at the woman in love with the same man she is. We all move forward to help Maggie move Glenn's body, but she stops us, leaning over him protectively.

"I need to do this," she chokes out. "Please."

"We need to help you," Aaron tells her gently.

"I got it," Carl murmurs, attempting to help Maggie up. "I got it."

"No…" she breathes. "No."

"Please…" Rick whispers. "Please let us. He, he's our family too, too… he's our family, too."

She relents, allowing Rick, Aaron, Michonne, and Carl to lift Glenn's body into the bed of the truck the Saviors had left behind. She collapses against me, and I hold her up when her knees buckle, the two of us sobbing together while Sasha, Eugene, and Rosita lift Abraham's body and place him beside Glenn. I duck beneath her, slinging her arm over my shoulders and supporting her weight as I walk her to the truck.

I kiss her cheek, tucking her into the passenger seat, making sure she's safe with Sasha before closing her door and shuffling into the RV behind Rick. I stumble over something on my way to the bench seat. Daryl's bolt I'd pulled from the walker yesterday, still rolling around the floor. I pluck it from the ground and collapse onto the bench, curling into the corner. I hug the bolt to my chest and sob silently.

*Daryl's POV*

"Easy street," Merle chortles. "Say what you want, little brother, but uh… that shit's pretty damn funny, huh? Huh?"

The music has distorted into nothing more than chaotic, jarring noise. I can't feel nothin' anymore.

"Look at you," Merle crouches down beside me. "Jus' sittin' here, bare ass nekkid as the day you was born, yessir. You gon' die in here, brother. Mhmm. Where's, uh… where's Officer Friendly, now, huh? Betcha, betcha he ain't locked in some godforsaken box, wolfin' down  _ puppy chow _ in 'is own shit. Nah... can't says you don't deserve it, brother. Hell, ain't it you that got the Chinaman killed? Yeah… s'right. All them years I spent tryin' to make a man of you…"

He goes on and on and on… he don't even shut up when Dwight shows up. I didn't eat it the first time. Not the second time, neither. Third time, though… hunger took over. Ain't like it's the first time I had nothin' better to eat than Ol' Roy. Don't taste it anymore. Food is food. And it's better than what I deserve.

Merle's been visiting me. Laughing it up. Others are here, too, sometimes. Denise. Abraham. Glenn. Beth. Wait… the noise is gone. It's gone… my ears are ringing, but it's finally quiet. My dry, stinging eyes close, heavy, leaden head falling forward against the cold concrete as I finally,  _ finally _ give in to the exhaustion.

My body jerks violently awake. Feels like only a second my eyes were shut, but now I ain't sure they were ever closed at all, that that damn song had actually stopped playing. My aching muscles are twitching, the wiring in my brain shorting out.

"Daryl?"

No. No, no, no, no… but it's her. She's here. Matted crimson curls, dripping with blood, her face an indistinguishable mass of torn flesh.

"Why?" She sobs, voice clear as it's ever been despite her ruined features. "Why? Why, why, why, why?"

Adrienne's voice distorts into anguished howls that needle my brain like ice picks. She's dying. I did this.  _ I did this to her. _ I can't move. I can't speak. I place my trembling hands over my ears, but I can still hear her screaming. I didn't help her. I can't help her. I hang my head and sob into the unforgiving ground.

Suddenly, the blinding, artificial light from the hallway sears my aching eyes. Dwight, again. He flings a sandwich my way. Stale bread and canned dog food. Don't matter, hunger is gnawing at my insides. He's brought something else this time. He hurls the bundle at me and leaves, darkness swallowing me whole once more. Clothes. I ain't wearing this shit. I ain't gonna give in. Not again.

"Daryl."

Another Adrienne, this one pristine, perfect… sitting cross-legged beside her own mangled, dead body. A ghost. She's luminous, glowing in the darkness, the same way she glows when the sunlight hits her skin just right. She looks mildly disturbed, staring at me with furrowed brows.

"Daryl, you have to get up," she urges. "You're freezin'."

She's right. I'm freezing. I grasp at the fabric lying in a heap on the ground beside me.

"Put 'em on," she instructs simply. "You're gonna get sick."

"Don't listen to her, little brother," Merle appears beside her, arms crossed in front of him, and for the first time I realize he still has both hands. "She don't care about you. Ain't nobody ever cared 'bout your worthless ass, brother, never. Ain't nobody in the world ever give a shit about you 'cept me. What, you, you really think a woman like that'd want shit to do with some… some fuckin' redneck sumbitch locked in a, in a cage, don't even got the balls to do nothin' about it? You think jus' 'cause she spread them legs for you, let you get your dick wet, what? You think she  _ loves _ you? That it, brother? You ain't  _ shit _ to her. You ain't man enough to handle all that, Darylina. She ain't comin' for you. Mhmm. Your, your best pal, Rick, he ain't comin' for you, neither."

Adrienne's silent now, just sitting quietly beside her body, staring at me expectantly. I don't know what the hell she wants from me.

"Well…"

No. Merle and Adrienne both disappear, retreating into the darkness to make way for yet another visitor. I ain't heard that voice since the day I left home.

"Ain't you doin' your ol' man, proud," Will Dixon snorts derisively. "Gone 'n got yourself locked up, jus' like I damn sure 'nuff told ya you was gon' do. I got half a mind to knock you on your ass right here, son. Ain't no son of mine gon' cry like no goddamn pussy. Jus' glad your mama ain't here to see this shit, boy. 'Course, she never did care boutcha none. What, you ain't really spent all this time thinkin' that fire was an accident, did ye? Nah, you was such a disappointment to her, she jus' lit out. Left you, mhmm. Now… stand up, son. Seems you got a lesson needs learnin'."

No. Oh, god, no, please, not again. He's stepping towards me, pulling his belt from around his waist. The brass buckle glints menacingly, like it always did. I grit my teeth, bracing myself for the sting of my ol' man's belt buckle, tearing into the flesh on my back. Splitting open old scars, creating new ones. I hear the sound of leather whipping through the air, swear to God I  _ feel _ the wind that precedes the bite… but the pain never comes.

I look up and he's gone. They're all gone. I'm alone. My breaths are tearing in and out of my lungs frantically, my heart thundering against my ribcage. He's gone. He's gone, he ain't here, and he never was.

_ You're freezin'. You're gonna get sick. _

Adrienne's voice, in my head, that sweet, gentle tone she seems to reserve only for me. Hell do Merle and dad know? Ain't never heard a woman speak to either of 'em that way. Ain't never heard a woman tell 'em to come home. To be safe, I love you... she  _ loves _ me. I put on the damn clothes.

Eventually, Dwight's back. Didn't bring nothin' but my crossbow with him this time. He pulls me to my feet and pushes me down a dimly lit corridor, holding me by the shirt collar. Eventually we enter a room, the infirmary.

"Carson!" Dwight barks, addressing the older man standing beside an exam table.

Dr. Carson. But he ain't the same Dr. Carson from Hilltop. He's his brother. Fixed me up when I first got here. He appears to have just finished examining a woman who looks vaguely familiar to me… Sherry. Dwight's wife.

"We were just finishing up," Dr. Carson says, Sherry hopping down from the table.

"Chop, chop," Dwight commands.

"Hi, D," Sherry murmurs.

"Hey," Dwight replies, and it's silent for a moment.

"Daryl, right?" Sherry questions, and I'm afraid she's gonna hit me.

"Don't talk to him," Dwight instructs, shoving me onto the examination table.

His eyes land on the pregnancy test sitting on a tray of medical utensils near the table.

"It's negative," Sherry tells him.

"Yeah, well, maybe next time," Dwight mumbles bitterly.

"Sorry," Carson apologizes, moving to dispose of the pregnancy test. "Still getting used to being my own assistant."

I ain't really listening to him, though. I'm watching Sherry. Something's off. She and Dwight ain't touched, hardly even looked at each other.

"Whatever they say…" Sherry says, approaching me. "Just do it."

"I said don't talk to him," Dwight hisses, and, after a few seconds of loaded silence, Sherry leaves the room.

"Okay, let's take a look," Carson says, pulling my shirt from my back to examine the exit wound from the bullet Dwight had put through my chest. "It'll get better… if you let it. Negan'll take care of you. Trust me."

Then we're on our way back to the fuckin' hole they're keeping me in and I'm terrified of what's gonna be waiting for me when I get there. Who. Who's gonna be waiting. Out here, even though the lights are dim, it's easier to differentiate between reality and fiction, what's really there and what ain't. Suddenly, Dwight shoves me to my knees, kneeling beside me as Negan strolls around the corner.

"Dwighty boy!" He greets, chuckling, then addresses a man with a mop a little further down the hallway. "I need to talk to my associate for a minute. Go about your business."

He gestures at the man with that damn bat he carries around with him like a king's scepter, and the man disappears without a single word.

"Except for you," Negan orders, pointing the bat at the large man who had come around the corner with him. "You, stand right there."

He motions to a spot just around the corner and Dwight shoves me around to a red kitchen chair sitting on the other side of the wall.

"Sit," he orders, like there's another choice.

The large man points a gun to my head, keeping me rooted to the spot Negan wants me in. Ain't a coincidence this spot happens to be directly across from an open room. A bedroom, big. Like a studio apartment, furnished with a kitchenette, a tv, a bookshelf… and a bed. I focus on the bed. Ain't slept since I got here, not more than the few seconds at a time when the music stops only to start right back up again, impossibly loud.

Dwight's discussion with Negan is short. He yanks me from the chair and leads me down the hallway. My pulse quickens as we approach the cell they've been holding me in, but we walk right past it, Dwight roughly shoving me outside. We're at the front of the compound, standing just inside the chain link separating Negan's world and freedom.

Several other men, dressed in outfits nearly identical to mine, white-turned-beige sweats and sweatshirts marked with a single spray painted letter, are outside the fence, armed with sticks. They're all prisoners, too, tasked with keeping the walkers outside the compound chained up, impaled, or otherwise immobile. Undead security guards. Dwight raises my crossbow, shooting a bolt into the head of one of the walkers.

"You know, I think I'm gettin' the hang of this thing," he informs me nonchalantly, then shoves me up against the fence. "That's you, asshole. Unless you're smart. Your choice. You could be like them… or me. Or them."

Like him? He think he's any less a slave to Negan than they are? Our little field trip is over and Dwight herds me back inside, shoving me into my cell. He has one last bit of sage advice to impart before he leaves.

"Make it easy on yourself."

"I ain't never gonna kneel," I tell him, clinging to my conviction while my thoughts are still clear.

"Yeah," he scoffs, pity in his eyes. "I said that, too."

"Yeah, I know," I snap pointedly.

"See…" he sighs, and I almost feel sorry for him. "That's the thing, man. You don't. But you're gonna."

Then he's gone and I'm alone in the darkness again. At least, for the time being. Somebody'll show up eventually. What I deserve. Glenn didn't have to die. He ain't never gonna meet his kid 'cause I couldn't control myself. That's on me. Moments after the door slams behind Dwight, the music starts up again and I spiral into the void.

"You could check for a weak spot on the doorframe."

Adrienne's back, that perfect version of her. The way she looked the first time I saw her,  _ really _ saw her. Glowing and happy and so fucking beautiful it hurts to look. She's leaning lazily against the wall beside the door and she looks so real… weak spot on the doorframe. I get to my feet and scramble towards the door. Adie grins and fades into nothing. I'm losing it. Truly.

I run my fingers around the doorframe, desperately searching for any sign of a spot with some give. There's nothing. I try the handle, but it's useless. It's locked. I ain't got nothing here to pick it with. I collapse to the floor, squinting through the tiny gap between the floor and the bottom of the door. No one's out there.

"So, that's it?"

Glenn. Like he was before… guilt sinks its claws into my chest.

"You're giving up?" He demands. "After all this, after everything we've been through? C'mon, man… go home. They  _ need _ you."

Then he's gone, too. Home. Our home, he'd called it. I ain't never gonna kneel. I get back to my feet. They're gonna keep me in here, they're gonna get one hell of a fight. I kick desperately at the door, hardly registering the pain that rocks through me every time my bare foot lands against the heavy slab of metal. I ain't never gonna kneel.

I am gonna take a break, though. Just for a few minutes. Just a few minutes…

-

I ain't sure how long I've been sitting in the corner when the door opens, but it had to be more than a few minutes. It ain't Dwight this time. It's the big guy from the hallway, holding out a sandwich. Dwight usually just throws it at me, this guy is offering it to me in his hand.

It's a trick. It has to be. Soon as I move to take it, he's gonna kick me or hit me or some shit. But he's just standing there. I lurch forward, snatching the sandwich and retreating back to my corner. He ain't even tried to touch me. I bite into the sandwich while he watches, enjoying the show for a moment before slamming the door shut. Then he walks away. The door… I didn't hear the lock click into place. No way… I abandon the sandwich.

I crawl across the floor and squint at the sliver of hallway I can see beneath the door. He ain't here. No one is here. No fucking way. I crouch beside the door and try the handle. The knob twists in my hand, and when I push… holy shit. That dipshit left the door unlocked. I'm out. I'm getting the hell outta here.

I move through the hallway, silently, cautiously. There are Saviors everywhere. This place is like a damn maze. I'm hiding, waiting for a group of Saviors to reach the end of the hallway before I round the corner, when I'm grabbed from behind. I cock my fist, whirling around, but it's just Sherry.

"Go back while you can," she whispers emphatically. "You know I did. Whatever he's done to you, there's more. There's always more.  _ You won't get away. _ And when you're back, it'll be worse."

I ain't never gonna kneel. She gave up. She and Dwight both. Sold their souls to Negan. If they catch me, I'll get away next time. Or the time after that. I ain't gonna give up. Not ever. I sprint down the hallway towards the door, and she don't stop me. I peer out the window. I can work with this… I'm looking at a small patch of asphalt serving as a parking lot. Bikes, several of 'em. Not a Savior in sight.

I burst out the door, tearing towards the Harley nearest me. Then it happens. Saviors. Eight, nine, ten of 'em, including the dumb sumbitch who left the door unlocked. I'm surrounded. Then the whistling. Negan, announcing his arrival as he strolls into the center of the circle of men around me.

Shit. This was a set up. Leaving the door unlocked, that wasn't an accident. It was a test.

"Are we pissin' our pants yet?" He chuckles, bat hanging loosely at his side as he turns to face me. "Who are you?"

He points the bat at the large Savior with the gun.

"Negan," the Savior replies.

"Who are  _ you? _ " Negan questions, smirking at me as yet another Savior repeats his name.

"Who are you?" He asks them all in general.

"Negan."

Pussies. All of 'em. I ain't never gonna kneel.

"You see that?" Negan chuckles. "I am _everywhere._ And this was your shot to prove to me that that _fundamental_ fact was sinkin' in, and you failed. Which sucks, because your life was about to get _so_ much fuckin' cooler. Am I right?"

"Damn right," the big Savior says, kissing Negan's ass with a smile.

Negan chuckles, tapping at my bare feet with the tip of his bat. That bat killed two of my friends. Killed the father of Maggie's unborn child.

"Now, Dwight gave you some options," he muses. "I don't think you get it yet. So I'm gonna break it down for you. You get three choices. One, you wind up on the fuckin' spike and you work for me as a dead man. Two, you get outta your cell, you work for points, but you're gonna fuckin'  _ wish  _ you were dead. Or three, you work for me, you get yourself a brand new pair of  _ shoes, _ and you live like a king! Choice seems  _ pretty _ fuckin' obvious. You should know, there is no door number four. This is it. This is the  _ only  _ way."

He's staring me down, confidently looking directly into my eyes. He ain't shit. Just a man. He ain't invincible. Men die. He's gonna die one day. My people are gonna make damn sure of that. My time might be over, but I ain't gonna kneel. I ain't gonna break. He ain't gonna take that from me. I ain't gonna give him the satisfaction.

"Screw it," he chuckles mirthlessly, smile disappearing from his lips as he raises the bat.

I ain't gonna back down. Glenn didn't. Abraham sure as hell didn't. The bat comes down and I stare him dead in the eyes. I ain't never gonna kneel.


	82. Easy Peasy, Lemon Squeezy

**Chapter 82**

"Wow!" He stops, the bat less than an inch from my skull. "You don't scare easy. I  _ love  _ that. But Lucille… well, it kinda pisses her off. She finds it to be… disrespectful. Lucky for you, she's not feelin' too thirsty today. But I am. So… I'm gonna go… get me a drink!"

He laughs at his own bullshit, sauntering away with his bat. I'm gonna kill him. Not today. But I am. First, I'm gonna fight these sumbitches. I ain't gonna kneel to Negan. I sure as hell ain't gonna kneel to his men. I throw the first punch. Might be the only chance I got to get a decent swing in.

-

It was. Ten well fed men, weak as they may be otherwise, on no sleep, hardly any food, injured… it ain't an even fight. They beat the shit outta me and then I'm back in the fuckin' cell. In the dark. Alone. At least it's quiet for once. Sooner or later, that goddamn easy street shit'll start back up again, but not yet. Think I broke my hand. Good, means I hit somebody hard enough to matter.

"Daryl?"

Sherry, crying outside my cell. I ain't gonna talk to that bitch. Coward.

"There's so many things I wish I never found out…" she sniffles. "I wish I didn't try… back… back in the woods after I lost Tina… when we took your stuff, when, when we decided to go back… I told you I was sorry."

Yeah. Sorry. Sorry don't mean shit.

"And you said…  _ 'you're gonna be', _ " she continues. "I am."

She walks away. Hell's the point of sorry now? Her suffering don't make a damn bit of difference to me. Sorry, not sorry, it don't matter. Sorry ain't gonna get either of us outta here. The music is back. If you can even call it that. Music. I count the loops, desperate to keep my brain from turning numb again. 18… 26… it's on the thirty-first rotation when my door opens. Dwight this time. Another sandwich. I ain't gonna eat it. No point.

If I starve to death, maybe I can at least take Dwight out before they stick a knife into my skull.

"Eat," he instructs, pointing to the sandwich on the ground. "You got your friend killed. I got Tina killed. And don't pretend like you don't know the score."

I can't help the anger that burns up inside me. Impulsively, I snatch the sandwich from the ground and launch it at Dwight's face. He ignores it, kneels beside me.

"You should be dead," he spits. "But Negan's taken a shine to you. You're lucky. Don't forget."

He reaches into the pocket of my vest, which he's been wearing since they stripped it off of me, producing a polaroid and taping it to the wall.

"Bon appetit," he snarks, slamming the door closed.

I rip the photo from the wall and toss it aside. It lands face down near the disassembled sandwich. I dunno why, maybe some sick need to punish myself, but I flip it over. Glenn. What was left of him. This is my fault. There's no way around that fact. No redemption. They're not coming for me, neither. I got one of ours killed. It's on me.

New music starts. Negan's sick idea of a joke. I was all right for a while, the lyrics go. I was all right. We were almost good. Now Abraham is dead. Glenn is dead. I'm as good as dead, and Adrienne, Rick, the rest of them… they're probably wishing they were, too.

"Crying… crying… crying… alone and crying."

Ain't never heard this song, but it's about damn accurate. I deserve it. Ain't nothing left to do but cry. Deep, guttural sobs wrench themselves from my body while I stare down at the heinous image on the floor. Ain't like I needed the reminder. I see it every time I blink.

-

By the next time Dwight opens the door, I've cried until I ain't had nothing left to give and collapsed into a puddle of my own vomit. I can't stop looking at Glenn's picture. This is my fault. Dwight yanks me down the hallway and shoves me into a room like the one I'd seen before. Like a mini apartment. Negan's waiting there, nestled comfortably in an armchair in the corner.

"Jesus," he says, standing and looking me over. "You… look  _ awful. _ "

Look a hell of a lot better than Glenn and Abraham do.

"Don't you worry," he assures me. "We'll have Carson fix you all up. You thirsty? Here."

He thrusts a glass of water under my nose and, by sheer force of impulse, my fingers close around it.

"Ah, hell, I forgot," he says. "Your mouth is all fuckin'... puffed up like a baboon's ass. Need a straw? D, give 'im a straw. What's wrong with you?"

Dwight scurries towards the kitchenette, presumably to search for a straw.

"See that guy?" Negan questions conspiratorially. "He hustles. I  _ like  _ hustle. But believe it or not, things weren't always cool between us."

He don't say. Dwight drops a straw into my glass and I just let it sit until he snatches the entire thing from my hands. Probably afraid I'll throw it at him. I probably would've if I had the amount of energy required left to be pissed off at anyone besides me.

"See, D, here… he worked for points," Negan continues. "Him and his super hot wife and her super hot sister. But, see, sis… she needed meds. And that shit is hard to scavenge, so it cost more. Sis fell behind on points, so I asked her to marry me."

He… marry him?

"Told her I would take care of her in sickness and in health, blah, blah, blah, because  _ I _ am a fuckin'  _ stand up _ guy," he explains. "She tells me that she's gonna  _ think _ about it. Next thing you know, I'm dealin' with an orange situation. Dwighty boy here  _ stole _ all the medication and took off with his super hot wife and  _ my  _ super hot  _ maybe _ soon to be finacée."

He taps the floor with his bat, taking a moment to collect himself.

"So I had to send my guys after him," he continues calmly. "Because I can't let somethin' like that fuckin' stand.  _ There are rules. _ Cost me an arm and a leg goin' after him. And you know what? Dwighty boy? He still got away. But here's the thing. D… he saw the light. He manned up. He came back. He asked for my forgiveness. I like that. Made me… take notice."

He steps towards me, waving the bat menacingly. I shrink away from it this time. Ain't got nothin' left to prove.

"But Lucille…" Negan murmurs. "Well, you know how she is. She is a fuckin'  _ stickler _ for the rules. So, Dwight… he  _ begged _ me not to kill Sherry, which I thought was kinda cute, so I was just gonna kill  _ him. _ But then Sherry says that she will marry me if I let Dwight live, which, if you think about it, that's a pretty fucked up deal, 'cause I was gonna marry her sister until she  _ wound up _ dead, but… Sherry  _ is  _ super hot!" He stops for a chuckle, then picks right back up again."Anyways, it was a start. But it wasn't enough. So Dwight… he got the iron. And  _ then  _ I married his super hot wife.  _ Ex-wife. _ And then after all that, he  _ still  _ got on board. And now look at him! Pow! One of my top fuckin' guys. And we are  _ totally _ cool. The point bein'... I think you can be that guy. I think you are  _ ready _ to be that guy. You look around here. This? Well… it can all be yours. All you gotta do is answer one simple question. Who are you?"

He thinks I can be that guy. That I'm  _ 'ready'. _ Whatever the hell that means. And for a second, I think about it. Who am I? Just some redneck asshole. Merle would take the deal. Probably work his way to the top of the food chain 'n kill Dwight for all the trouble. But Merle's dead. I realize two things. I'm not like my brother. And I don't wanna be  _ 'that guy'. _ I'll die first.

"What, does the cat got your tongue?" Negan chuckles. "You're just overwhelmed by the  _ awesomeness  _ of this? I'm gonna ask you one more time."

He steps towards me, closer, closer, inches from my face, the bat a silent threat between us.

"Who are you?"

I look at him, look him right in the eyes. I ain't weak. I ain't never gonna kneel.

"Daryl."

Surprise flashes in his eyes, then amusement.

"This is the only-"

"Hey! Ssst, ssst, ssst," Negan grins, Dwight falling silent. "It's  _ cool, _ D. He made his choice. Ain't my problem if he made a dumbass choice."

With that, it's back to the cell. Back to the stench of my own shit, fear, and vomit. To the cold, the dark, the fucking  _ noise. _ Back to Glenn's picture.

"You are gonna wind up in that room or hangin' on the fence!" Dwight snarls, turning to shut me in.

"I get why you did it," I blurt, stopping him in his tracks. "Why you took it. You were thinkin' about someone else. That's why I can't."

He slams the door shut without a word. I don't think he gets it. I can't do it, I can't take Negan's deal, and it ain't 'cause I'm only thinking about myself. It's  _ because  _ I'm thinking of someone else. Adrienne would never do it. Rick, neither. Or Michonne, or Maggie, Abraham, Glenn, or Carol. Who I am is because of them. My shithead brother and ol' man ain't got shit to do with who I've become. Nah. My family? They're back home. They made me… stronger. Stronger than Negan, stronger than Dwight.

I ain't never gonna kneel.

*Adrienne's POV*

"Adie…"

It's Michonne. I know what she wants. Sleep. Eat something. Shower. I can't. I won't. I don't even glance her way, keeping my eyes glued to the horizon. I've been on watch long enough to watch the sun rise, cross the sky, and sink back down below the trees. I haven't been able to take a full breath since… since before.

Every time I close my eyes, even to blink, I see Daryl vanishing behind steel doors, or Abraham's or Glenn's body, destroyed, mangled… it was supposed to be  _ me. _ I'm still covered in their blood. It's long dried, some of it flaking from my skin, crusted onto my hair. I can't shower. I can't wash them away, not yet. It's been days.

Rick's gone. He's here, physically, but he's not  _ here  _ here. The Saviors have Daryl. And we don't know where they took him. Everyone here has given up. We're not gonna fight. I don't know if we even can.

"Adie, talk to me," Michonne pleads, joining me on the platform I've stationed myself at.

It overlooks the gate. At this point, I don't believe there's a snowball's chance in hell of Carol or Morgan coming back and there's really no fucking point in keeping watch at all, but I need to do _ something. _ I can't speak. Even if I wanted to.

"Look," Michonne sighs. "You don't have to talk. Just listen. This place? We need you,  _ I _ need you. Please. Take a shower. Rest. Eat something. We've lost too much. I'm not gonna let you disappear, too."

Tears sting my tired eyes. I'm exhausted. I don't wanna fight anymore. I can't. I climb down from the platform, Michonne taking up my post. I head into Carol's house. It's still Carol's, even if she left. Abandoned us. She has no idea… I make my way into the bathroom, stripping my blood stained clothes from my body and stepping into the shower. I turn the knob, not bothering to adjust the temperature when the icy water shocks my skin, sending a painful thrill up my spine. I let my head fall forward, staring blankly down at the rust colored rivulets swirling around, around, around and down the drain. Blood. It  _ always  _ ends in blood.

After I've washed myself, I shuffle down the hallway to the room I shared with Daryl. It's quiet. This house is mostly empty now, just me and Eugene left. Rosita's been staying at Spencer's. I pad across the floor and pull open the closet, selecting a green and black flannel and a pair of worn out jeans. Both belong to Daryl. I slip my legs into the jeans. I'm swimming in them, but I can make do.

I stumble my way across the carpet and snatch my belt from the dresser opposite our bed, cinching it tight around my waist. They're baggy, but they'll stay up. I roll the cuffs until I'm satisfied I won't be tripping over myself and slip my arms into Daryl's flannel. One of the only ones left with sleeves still attached. Dressed, I crawl into bed and sob myself to sleep.

I wake the next morning, reaching for Daryl out of habit before waking enough to remember I'm grasping at empty sheets. I roll to the edge of the bed and slip my feet into my boots, grabbing my knives and tucking them into place on my belt. I snatch the Glock I'd taken from the armory when we'd returned, slipping it into the back of my waistband. Then I pull the rifle from the hook on the back of the door and sling it across my chest, marching outside to the gate watch point and relieving Tobin of his duties just as the sun crests the horizon line.

He doesn't argue with me. Everyone but Michonne gave up on that two days ago. Can't argue with a mute. I have no desire to talk to anyone. There's nothing to say. Eugene's been sticking close all morning, sitting just beneath my platform, tinkering with a broken radio.

"Can you open the gate?" Rosita questions, pulling up in an old Chevy with Spencer.

Eugene either doesn't hear her or doesn't give a shit, continuing to fiddle with the radio without so much as a glance in her direction.

"Eugene," she snaps.

"Yeah?"

"Open the gate."

"Goin' out to see if we can find anything for when they come," Spencer announces. "You wanna help?"

"I don't believe I'd be up to that," Eugene declines.

Doesn't matter. No one's going anywhere, not yet. There's a fucking  _ fleet _ of trucks headed our way. They're early.

"Yeah, sounds about right," Rosita sighs.

"I'm repairin' this portable audio system for them," Eugene protests. "We'll have a perfectly respectable music player when they arrive. I'm dealin' in certainties, and I'm doin' my part to give them what they want."

The bickering stops only when the three assholes down there finally catch wind of the engines rumbling down the street. I sigh and climb down from the platform. Negan exits one of the vehicles and strolls forward, whistling brightly, smacking his bat against our gate.

"Little pig, little pig, let me in!" He bellows.

Before I can move, Spencer rushes forward to pull open the inner gate. We have two, one made with steel bars to keep anything from  _ getting  _ in. That's the outer gate. The second, inner gate, is just chainlink lined with mesh. Keeps things from  _ looking  _ in.

"Well?" Negan demands, eyeing Spencer expectantly.

"Uh… who are you?" Spencer questions, and I want to hit him.

"Oh, you better be fuckin' jokin'," Negan grins. "Negan? Lucille? I know I had to make a pretty strong first impression."

Rick chooses this moment to stride forward, glaring at Negan through the gate.

"Well, hello, there," Negan greets him. "Do  _ not  _ make me have to ask."

"You said a week," Rick points out. "You're early."

For Christ's sake. I stalk forward, yanking the gate open and stepping aside.

"I missed you," Negan smirks, eyeing Rick.

Before anyone can say anything else, a walker shambles through the veritable convoy behind him.

"Oh, Rick, come on out here," Negan beckons. "Watch this."

He strides towards the walker, waving his bat with a flourish.

"Callin' it!" He shouts, swinging his bat into the walker's face and cackling.

I flinch violently at the sound of the bat connecting to flesh, the unbidden image of Glenn's displaced eyeball flashing through my mind.

"Easy peasy, lemon squeezy!" Negan crows, turning back towards us, eyes landing on me. "Little Red! Hardly recognized you without all the dirt and the blood. Damn, I didn't see it before, but  _ you _ … are  _ super _ hot! Wow."

I look anywhere but at him, rage and grief rising like bile in my guts. Then I see him. Daryl, among the small army of Saviors Negan brought with him 'cause he's not man enough to fight alone. Jesus… he's crying, bloody, bruised… they've beaten him. Badly. Doesn't look like he's slept, either. I thought for sure… I thought he was dead.

"Oh… oh sweetheart, don't cry.  _ That  _ one was already dead," Negan chuckles, pointing his bat at the walker on the ground. "All right, everybody. Let's get started. Big day!"

Rick is silent, his gaze following mine, taking in Daryl's wounds. Daryl won't look at me. I stumble forward, but Rick grabs me by the hand before I can even take a full step. I stiffen, turning my eyes to his. He shakes his head almost imperceptibly. I tear my hand angrily from his grasp, but remain rooted to the ground.

"Hey, Rick," Negan murmurs. "You see that? What I just did? That is some fuckin'  _ service! _ I mean, we almost get turned away at the gate until Little Red here steps up… 'who is that guy, anyway?' Do I get mad? Do I throw a fuckin' fit? Do I bash some ginger's dome in?"

I clench my fists, my nails biting into my palms, and fight the urge to hurl myself at him.

"Nope," he continues. "I just take care of one of these dead fuckin' pricks that coulda  _ killed _ one of y'all."

He makes a production out of bowing. Everything he does is a production. I  _ hate _ him.

"Service!" He says emphatically, then passes his bloodied bat to Rick. "Hold this."

He saunters past us, right through our gates, not a care in the damn world.

"Hot diggity dog!" He pumps his fist, taking it all in. "This place is fuckin'  _ magnificent! _ An embarrassment of riches, as they say."

I'm hardly listening. I can't take my eyes off of Daryl. They've taken his clothes, put him in an old sweat suit marked  _ 'A'. _ I zero in on Dwight, clad in Daryl's vest. It hangs on him. He's not broad enough to fill it out. He's not wearing it because it fits him, he's wearing it to make a point. I want to tear it from his back. Daryl tried to help him. He could've been one of us.

"Yes, sir, I do believe you are gonna have plenty to offer up," Negan says, turning and pointing a finger at Rick.

"Daryl," Rick says, turning away from Negan's bullshit for a moment. "Hey-"

"No," Negan cuts him off sternly, placing himself between Rick and Daryl. "Nope! He's the help. You don't fuckin' look at 'im, you don't talk to 'im, and I don't make you chop anything  _ off _ of 'im."

He turns to me, placing his index finger beneath my chin, forcing my eyes away to his.

"Same goes for everyone," he sing songs, then leans forward so he's inches from my face. "Right?"

I glare up at him in stony silence. I don't trust my voice not to break, so, still, I say nothing. If hell exists, surely this man is the devil. But I've met devils before and I'm not afraid. Daryl's  _ alive _ and I can be strong for him. I'm not gonna back down. So I stare the devil right in the eyes, unflinching, several loaded moments passing before he breaks his gaze from mine.

"Damn!" He whistles, turning to Rick. "A lotta suspense there. Tension, if you get where I'm goin'. I don't think she even knew how much."

Talking about me like I'm not less than two feet from his fucking mouth. It's a tactic. Belittle me, try to make me feel small so he can feel bigger. He has no idea who he's fucking with. I'll tear him apart.


	83. Is She Always This Quiet?

**Chapter 83**

"All right," Negan says eagerly, marching further down our main street. "Let's get this show on the road! See what kinda goodies you got in the cupboard."

"We put aside half the supplies," Rick informs him.

"No,  _ Rick, _ " Negan wheels around. "No.  _ You  _ don't decide what we take.  _ I  _ do. Arat."

A woman steps forward, breaking away from the rest of the Saviors.

"You heard the man," Arat says. "Move out!"

With that, the vast majority of the Saviors move forward, infiltrating our neighborhood like fucking sewer rats.

"They're just gonna search the houses a bit, keep the process movin'," Negan informs us, rubbing his hands together in a display highly reminiscent of Shane Walsh himself. "All right. You gonna show me around, or not? Well?"

Rick moves past him, swallowing his pride and biting his tongue. I know he doesn't have a lot of choice right now, but I am suddenly  _ livid _ with him. Maggie's right. We need to get ready to fight them. We can't go back to just… surviving. We had lives here. No one's gonna take that.

"Little Red," Negan says warmly, attempting to be charming. "Shall we?"

He grins, offering me his elbow, and my stomach turns. I'm not stupid. I'm sure he's picked up on the fact that I'm in love with Daryl and this is just another way to hurt him. That's the thing, though. He  _ will _ hurt him. So I swallow the bile rising in my throat and gingerly loop my arm through his. He chuckles, snapping his fingers for Daryl to follow. I don't dare look anywhere but straight ahead.

"You see this?" Negan questions, mercifully releasing my arm, watching as my people help the Saviors move furniture out of their homes. "This is the kinda thing that just fuckin' tickles my balls. A little cooperation and everything is pleasant as punch. You see, we really are reasonable people once you get to know us. Honest."

He steps towards a cooler on the parking strip outside one of the houses, lifting the lid and pulling out one of the cold sodas within.

"Oh, man…" he breathes, popping the tab and taking a sip before tossing the rest, can and all, into the gutter. "Damn, I love this place!"

"Negan," one of the Saviors strides towards us, offering Negan the camera from Deanna's study. "Somethin' you might wanna see."

The tapes… the interviews she'd filmed when we arrived.

"Well, well, well…" Negan crows happily. "What do we have here? I got my fingers crossed for a little freaky-deaky."

He winks at me and again I fight the urge to vomit. He presses play and Rick's image appears on the viewer, his recorded voice filtering from the speaker.

"...know me. I've killed people. I don't even know how many by now."

"Jee-hee-sus!" Negan exclaims. "Is that you, Rick, underneath all that man-bush? Shee-it. I would not have messed with  _ that  _ guy."

He presses record on the camera, filming the Rick standing in front of him now.

"But that's not you anymore…" he gloats, watching Rick's eyes well with tears. "Is it? Nope! Hey… Little Red."

He turns the camera to me and I freeze like a deer in the headlights.

"Hot damn, you were  _ made _ for film!" He crows, hitting stop on the camera and passing it to one of his cronies before turning back to Rick, running a hand over the scruff on his cheeks. "I really gotta shave this shit."

It's quiet for a moment, all of us seemingly suspended in time, waiting for whatever happens next.

"Whatever happened to that sick girl?" He questions abruptly. "That seemed like a helluva stressful night for her. The way she was carryin' on, she was married to number two, right?"

All the wind is knocked out of my lungs. I silently beg Rick not to say anything. He can't know where she is. He can't know she's alive, that she's pregnant, that she's  _ safe. _ Rick glares up at the man, some of the old fire back in his eyes.

"Careful," Negan chides. "Careful how you're lookin' at me, Rick. Widows, especially ones that look like that… damn! They… are…  _ special. _ I love 'em. Right after their husbands go, they are just...  _ empty _ inside. But usually not for long."

He chuckles suggestively as I nearly double over, one word hitting me like a sucker punch to the gut.  _ Special. _

_ You are so special, Adie Bee... _

Negan's still laughing, looking me over while my stomach lurches, cartwheeling in my guts.

"Don't you worry, Little Red," he says soothingly. "There's  _ plenty _ to fuckin' go around. Now. Where is she? I would  _ love  _ to see her."

"Do you care to pay your respects?"

Gabriel. I didn't hear him approach. Pay your respects, what in the hell is he… holy shit. Scheming little shit.

"Holy shit!" Negan barks, taking in the priest smiling benignly before us. " _ You _ are creepy as shit, sneakin' up on me, wearin' that collar with that freaky ass smile."

"My apologies," Gabriel nods, not sorry in the slightest. "I'm Father Gabriel."

Negan scoffs, then turns to glance between me and Rick.

"She didn't make it?" He questions.

Rick is at a loss. Gabriel catches my eye, and, for once, the priest and I are on the same page. I shake my head, Gabriel leading us to our little cemetery. He was smart, thinking ahead and digging three plots. Abe. Glenn. Maggie. It suddenly occurs to me, Daryl has no idea this is a ruse. Fuck. Fuck! I sneak a glance at him while Negan is distracted. He looks horrified, tears pouring from his blackened eyes.

"Damn tragedy," Negan mutters. "That's what this is. Well, this must  _ really  _ fuckin' suck for you guys. Number one? That was on me. No choice there. Lessons had to be learned. But number two?  _ That _ didn't need to happen."

My heart shatters, watching the pain flicker across Daryl's face. He's blaming himself. Of course he is. He probably thinks he deserves the beatings and whatever the hell else those assholes are doing to him.

"Daryl there, he forced my hand," Negan continues, and I'm ready to snap his fucking neck. "Probably put her right on her back, huh? Damn. I was gonna ask her to come back with me. Oh, I know what you're thinkin'. How could  _ I  _ have a shot, guy that just fuckin' bashed her husband's head in? You'd be surprised, boy, people, they-"

He doesn't finish, a single gunshot interrupting his train of thought, glass shattering in the distance.  _ Shit. _ I take off, flying towards the infirmary. Carl. Because  _ of fucking course _ it's Carl.

"Put some back," he orders, gun on the Savior pilfering our med cabinets. "Or the next one goes in you."

"Kid…" the Savior chuckles. "What do you think happens next?"

"You die," Carl snarls.

I slip between Carl and the Savior just as Rick enters the room, Negan on his heels.

"Carl," he warns. "Carl, put it down."

"No," Carl says flatly. "He's taking  _ all  _ of our medicine. They said only half our stuff!"

"Of course," Negan says, practically beaming as he scoots me out of the way and takes my place between Carl and the Savior. "Oh-ho… really, kid?"

"And you should go," Carl snaps, glaring at the man in front of him. "Before you find out how dangerous we all are."

God damn it, Carl,  _ shut up! _

"Well,  _ pardon me, _ young man," Negan says. "And excuse the fuckin' shit outta my goddamn French, but did you just threaten me? Look, I get threatening Davey here, but I can't have it. Not him, not me."

"Carl just put it  _ down _ ," Rick hisses.

" _ Don't _ be  _ rude _ , Rick," Negan chastises. "We are havin' a conversation here. Now, boy, where were we? Oh, yeah. Your giant, man-sized balls. No threatening us. Listen, I  _ like  _ you, so I don't wanna go hard provin' a point here. You don't want that. I said half your shit, and  _ half  _ is what I say it is. I'm serious. Do you want me to prove how serious?  _ Again? _ "

Carl begrudgingly lowers the gun, passing it to Rick with a heavy sigh.

"You know, Rick," Negan starts, taking the gun from his hand. "This whole thing reminds me that you have _a lotta_ guns. There's all the guns you took from my outpost when you wasted all my people with a _shit ton_ of your own guns, and I'm bettin' there's even more. Which adds up to an absolute _ass load_ of guns, and as this little emotional outburst has made crystal clear… I can't allow that."

Fuck.

"They're all mine now," Negan announces. "So tell me, Rick… where are my guns?"

-

"I figured you were coming," Olivia says nervously, watching me, Rick, Negan, Daryl, and several of the Saviors assemble outside her garage.

"Show 'im where the guns are, Olivia," Rick says defeatedly.

Arat had already confiscated both the rifle and the handgun I'd been carrying, leaving me with only my knives, at Negan's behest.

"The armory's inside," Olivia says, turning on her heels and leading the way.

"You run the show in here?" Negan questions, eyeing the poorly stocked garage that serves as our pantry.

"I… I just keep track of it all," she says softly. "The rations, the guns."

"Good," Negan nods. "Smart. Don't let  _ me  _ stop you. Take Arat 'n the boys. Show 'em the goods."

She obediently leads the Saviors into the house, and I watch helplessly as Daryl files inside with them. He's not one of them. He's  _ ours. _ Rick turns to follow, not realizing right off that Negan hasn't moved yet.

"Wait, wait, wait," Negan says. "While they're at it, I just wanna point out to you that I'm not takin' a  _ scrap  _ of your food. Slim pickin's in here. And I can't be the only one to notice that you got a fat lady in charge of keepin' track of rations, can I?"

Unbelievable. Olivia's not small, no, but she's honest to a fucking fault and works just as hard as the rest of the Alexandrians and takes only her share. I'd rather see her big and happy than watch her starve like we're all gonna be doing soon.

"Either fuckin' way," Negan continues. "You starve to death, I don't get shit, so, _ for now,  _ you get to keep all the food. How 'bout that?"

"What do you want me to say?" Rick questions, just barely managing to keep his tone civil.

"I dunno,  _ Rick, _ " Negan sneers. "How about a fuckin'  _ thank you? _ You think that might be in order, or is that too much to ask?"

Negan waits, watching Rick struggle. Then he chuckles, sighing.

"Oh, I know we started off on the wrong foot," he says. "But what can I say? You  _ forced my hand, _ Rick. But it's like I been tryin' to tell you, I'm a  _ very _ reasonable man as long as you cooperate, so let me ask you a question, Rick. Are you cooperating?"

"What's it look like?" Rick demands.

"Oh-ho-ho…" Negan chuckles. "I  _ know  _ what it looks like. But what I  _ really _ wanna know is if we're gonna find all the guns back there or if maybe you got a few just waitin' for their moment… just like my Lucille."

My gaze drops to the bat still in Rick's hand. Lucille. I'm gonna burn that bat inside Negan's ribcage.

"They're all in there, to the best of my knowledge," Rick informs him, gritting his teeth.

"I am  _ countin'  _ on that, Rick," Negan says emphatically.

Eventually, all the guns are being taken from the armory and loaded into one of Negan's trucks for the Saviors to count. Olivia provided them with the list of inventory, and they're taking stock of every last bullet while Rick and I wait with Negan.

"You know what today is, Rick?" Negan demands while I shift uncomfortably, arm once again looped through the murderous psychopath's. "Today is a  _ banner fuckin' day. _ Yes, it is. I think this little arrangement we have is gonna work out just fine."

Daryl moves to walk past Negan, arms loaded up with a few of our weapons.

"Hold up," Negan stops him, once more releasing me from his elbow, snatching one of the guns from Daryl before allowing him to move on. "Let's see if you've been takin' care of my guns."

He aims the .50 caliber at the back of Daryl's head and my heart leaps into my throat. Daryl turns, glaring at Negan as he stomps back into the armory. Negan shifts his aim, firing a single round into one of Olivia's windows.

"Feels good," he chuckles. " _ Sounds  _ good! Oh, I do believe Lucille's gettin' a little jealous."

His eyes land on the Savior now emerging from the armory carrying Daryl's RPG cannon in his arms. Abraham had found it, but the only person here to ever use it was Daryl. First to save Sasha and Abraham, then to save the rest of us back when he lit the pond on fire. Daryl saves people, even if he doesn't know it.

"Well, ho-lee smokes!" Negan exclaims, taking the gun from his man. "Look at this! It was  _ you guys _ that took out Little Timmy 'n the Dick Brigade? Wow, Rick. Gettin' in your last licks. Oh, man, I'm gonna have some  _ fun _ with this."

He turns abruptly towards me, his eyes crawling appreciatively over my body. Not for the first time, I'm grateful to be wearing Daryl's baggy clothes. I feel somewhat less exposed. Protected.

"Little Red, you ever handle a gun this fuckin'  _ huge? _ " He questions, licking his lips and cackling at his own crude joke, 'cause if he doesn't, no one will, turning back to Rick. "Is she always this quiet? I have yet to hear her utter a  _ single _ fuckin'-"

"Please! I, I, I don't know for sure…" Olivia stammers, interrupting Negan as Arat shoves her towards us.

"Arat," Negan chides. "We don't do that unless  _ they  _ do somethin' to deserve it."

"Yeah, we went through the inventory," Arat informs him. "Guns in the armory, guns they had around the walls, they're short. Glock 9 and a .22 Bobcat."

She thrusts the notebook containing Olivia's meticulous records towards Negan.

"Is that true?" He questions, Rick's eyes widening.

Olivia nods.

"We had some people leave town," Rick points out, grasping at straws. "Those guns probably went with them."

"So Olivia sucks at her job?" Negan demands. "Is that what you're sayin'?"

"No," Rick amends. "No, I'm  _ not  _ sayin' that."

"There should be a  _ full _ accounting here, right?" Negan questions, pointing at the notebook. "Top to bottom, am I right?"

"No," Olivia squeaks, nerves getting the best of her. I move to stand beside her, trying to bolster her with the presence of another friendly body nearby. "I mean, yes. The inventory is correct."

"Good," Negan nods, looking from me to Olivia and back with a smirk. "But not so good, too. You see, what's in  _ here… _ isn't in there, you're two handguns short. Do  _ you  _ know where they are?"

"No," Olivia insists. "I-"

"That's disappointing, Rick," Negan sighs, not bothering to let Olivia speak more than a couple syllables at a time. "I thought that we had an understanding. But this… well, this shows that someone's not on fuckin' board, and I can't have that."

Rick eyes me, and I know he suspects I know where the guns are. I don't. If I'd hidden them, I'd've been smart enough to adjust the goddamn inventory, he  _ knows  _ that. Not to mention, I'd have hidden more than two mediocre handguns. I wish I'd thought to do that. Negan turns back to Olivia.

"I don't enjoy killing women," he murmurs. "Men? I can waste them all the live long. But at the end of the day, Olivia, my dear, this was  _ your  _ responsibility."

"Look, we can work this out," Rick steps forward as I move protectively in front of Olivia's trembling body.

"Oh, yes, we can!" Negan says sharply, turning back to Rick. "And I'm going to, right fuckin' now."

He turns to find me standing defiantly between him and Olivia, who's begun to whimper behind me. He offers me a sideways grin.

"Little Red, I'm gonna need you  _ not  _ to piss me off, okay?" He places his hands on my shoulders, smiling indulgently down on me. "I have plans for you, but right now I need you to step aside and let me handle the...  _ unfortunate _ situation we've found ourselves in."

He scoots me over gently, placing me next to Rick, and I let him because I know. I know if I don't, he'll kill Olivia or Daryl or  _ both, _ even if we do manage to find the guns.

"This was  _ your  _ job, and you fucked up," he murmurs, eyes boring into Olivia's. "Keepin' track of  _ guns? _ That shit… is life and death."

He cracks a smile, watching while Olivia breaks down in front of him. I bite my tongue, increasing the pressure until the sharp, salty tang of blood washes over my taste buds. I'm gonna find those guns. He is  _ not _ taking anyone else from me. Negan has his Saviors round everyone up and send us into Gabriel's chapel, graciously allowing Rick to hold a meeting in an attempt to determine who took the missing guns before he starts killing people.

"I thought about hidin' some of the guns," Rick announces once we're all settled on the pews. "I did it before. I figured I could bury some out there. Maybe we don't touch 'em for  _ years… _ "

"Years?" Tobin questions.

"Yeah," Rick confirms. "That's right. But what if the Saviors find those guns? What if we run into 'em when we have those guns on us? One of us dies. Maybe more than that, maybe  _ a lot  _ more. Doesn't matter how many bullets we have. It isn't enough. They win. It's that black and white. Hidin' a coupla guns isn't the answer, not anymore. We don't have to like it, but we need to give 'em over. A Glock 9 and a .22. That's what they're lookin' for. Who has it?"

No one replies, a few suspicious glances cast my way. I didn't fucking take the guns. I have no idea who did. Eugene is terrified of Negan, too terrified to be ballsy enough to hide weapons, otherwise my bet would be on him. The only other candidate I can think of is Spencer, but he'd gone out with Rosita to fetch Daryl's bike for Dwight right after Negan and his pals showed up. He'd've had to have preemptively hidden them some time within the last three days and I don't know if he possesses the planning skills for that.

"Someone knows where they are," Rick presses, eyeing our people. "Or they know who does. If we don't find them, they're gonna  _ kill _ Olivia. They'll do it."

"Why do they care?" Scott, one of the original Alexandrians, demands, rising from his seat. "Two guns aren't a threat to them. But those guns could help protect us from whatever else is out there."

"Do you have 'em?" Rick questions gently.

"Wish I did," Scott shakes his head, sitting back down.

"Most of you weren't there," Rick points out. "You didn't have to  _ watch. _ But you can look away now when someone else dies,  _ or  _ you can help solve this. We give 'em what they want, and we live in peace."

They didn't have to see it. I'm glad they didn't, but maybe if they had we wouldn't be missing a couple guns. Seeing what Negan is capable of… no one would have risked that happening again. There seems to be a small commotion between Aaron and Eric, a hushed disagreement. Eric gets to his feet.

"Say we find the guns," he says. "How're we gonna get outta this, Rick?"

That's a damn fine question. More importantly, how the fuck are we gonna get Daryl back? I feel it in my guts. Just an ember, a slow smoldering, but it's there. That fire. The will to fucking  _ fight. _ It was gone with Abe, Glenn, and Daryl, and I couldn't find it. I don't think I even noticed it was missing, not really. But Daryl's  _ alive. _ Rick might not have the answers, hell, I don't have the answers, either. None of us do. But we have to find them. We have to fight.

"There is no way out of this," Rick says, stricken. "Let me put this to all of you as clearly as I can. I'm not in charge anymore. Negan is."

Once again, several pairs of expectant eyes are on me. Eric, Tobin, Scott, even Carl. What the hell do they want me to do? Argue? What the fuck is the point? Rick's given up. I'm not in charge here and now isn't the time to discuss how we're gonna get rid of the Saviors, not while they're crawling all over the place. I avert my eyes, glaring at the floor.

"Now," Rick says heavily. "Who has the guns?"

It's silent. Either no one knows, or the threat of losing Olivia isn't enough for them to give up the pittance of protection those guns offer.

"Not everyone's here," Eugene pipes up, as though just now noticing the notable absences of Spencer, Rosita, and Michonne.

Brilliant fuckin' deduction, Dr. Porter. Top notch detective work. I glance around the tight-lipped group, not a damn one of 'em giving up the location of the missing weapons. I sigh heavily, getting up from my seat on the chair at the back of the pulpit and striding down the aisle. This conversation is going nowhere. A waste of fucking time. Olivia's time. Better to just ransack through each house, top to bottom, one by one, scour every nook and goddamn cranny of this place until they turn up.


	84. Watch My Form

**Chapter 84**

Rick follows me into the Monroe's house. Seems logical to start with the dumbest of our missing people, then work our way through everyone else. We're searching through the living room, rifling through Deanna and Reg's old diagrams, looking under couch cushions, inside the fireplace… not a damn thing. Rick, rapidly losing his patience, flips over an armchair in frustration.

"Sorry," he mutters when I nearly jump out of my skin.

Seething, I go back to searching the wooden hutch between the bookshelves, which he's now ransacking, sweeping entire shelves worth of books to the floor. Sorry, my ass.

"Nothing."

Rick and I whirl around, both startled now, at the sudden presence of Gabriel.

"Still," Gabriel continues, stepping towards us. "I just… I feel like… I  _ know  _ this is going to work out."

Oh, good. I  _ love _ listening to him wax poetic about God's plan.

"How?" Rick questions derisively, kneeling to examine the bottom shelf.

"We'll find the guns," Gabriel says simply. "We'll get through today. Then we'll find a way to go forward, how to beat this."

" _ There is no beating this, _ " Rick insists.

"Yes," Gabriel retorts. "There is. Somehow. I have  _ faith  _ in us. I have faith in  _ you. _ Things change. You're my friend. It… wasn't always that way."

That's putting it delicately. Probably good Gabriel's here to talk to Rick, though. I'm one tossed household item away from losing my shit entirely. I cross into the dining area, rooting through the rolltop desk behind the dinner table. Seems like an illogical place for a desk until you remember Deanna, always working wherever she was, always planning, forever drawing up blueprints for a future she'll never see.

"Where's Michonne?" Gabriel questions, and I wait with baited breath for Rick to snap. "Could she possibly have-"

"She doesn't have anything they're lookin' for," Rick interrupts with a sigh, pulling a portrait from the wall.

Anything they're looking for… meaning she has  _ something. _ Whatever it is, it's not in the inventory records. Damn it. This better not bite us in the ass later.

"What you did with the graves, it was quick thinkin'," Rick continues, impressed. "Thank you."

"It was nice digging a grave I knew would stay empty." Gabriel smiles.

"No luck?" Aaron questions, materializing in the doorway, eyes darting back and forth between Rick and I.

Rick visibly deflates and I shake my head grimly, neither of us saying anything.

"We searched the house," Aaron says. "Rosita's. There's nothing. So what do we do now?"

Keep looking. Duh. I move my way about the room, eyes searching for anything out of place aside from the furniture and books Rick had left in disarray.

"If they were anywhere, they'd be here," Rick says emphatically. "Spencer's done this kinda thing before. We keep looking. Maybe today works out."

"I'll check the garage," Aaron volunteers, scurrying down the hallway.

"I'll look in Deanna's office again," Gabriel says, also disappearing down the hallway.

I'd upturned the bedrooms upstairs before joining Rick. There's nothing out of place, nothing out of order. Well. A carelessly discarded condom that missed the bin in Spencer's bedroom, but I'm choosing to ignore that gross shit. Rick and I exchange a glance, both of us at a loss. He turns away from me, raking his hands through his hair and stepping towards the window. Then it happens.

His eyes snap to mine, searching for confirmation that he hadn't been the only one to hear the hollow creak of the floorboards beneath his feet, that he hadn't invented the sound out of desperation. Eyes widening, I stride towards him as he crouches down to investigate the heat register that appears to have been pried off at some point, if the damaged floorboards around it are any indication. Sure enough, Spencer seems to have been squirreling away supplies, hiding them beneath the grate.

Several cans of food, a bottle of shitty bourbon, and a small, black drawstring bag. The guns. I knew it was Spencer. Moron. I snatch up the bottle, lifting it to my lips, silently daring Rick to tell me I shouldn't. I fucking know I shouldn't, but I need something. I take a generous swig, relishing in the burn as it trickles down my throat and heats my belly from within. Then I put it back, following Rick out the door to deliver the guns.

We're sidetracked, though. The moment we step outside, we're met with a scene that makes my blood boil. Carl on the curb, watching angrily from across the street while the Savior from the infirmary, Davey, berates Enid. He's holding a fistful of green balloons, taunting her. She'd been the one to find Glenn after the botched attempt at leading the herd of walkers from the quarry and away from us. They'd found those balloons together, sent them up as a sign to Maggie. A sign he was alive, coming home…

"You goin' to a party, little girl?" Davey demands, standing just a hair too fucking close to her.

"Can I keep them, please?" She questions, stiff upper lip, not giving away her fear that he might take away her little piece of Glenn. "It's just… let me keep them."

"Say please again, little girl," Davey orders, drawing nearer with a sickening leer.

"Please," Enid says flatly.

"Yeah…" he murmurs, running a fingertip along her cheek. "One more time."

Instinct takes over before I can think about the potential consequences of my actions, and I dart forward, wedging myself between Davey and Enid, catching the handful of balloons just before he drops them to the ground. I place them in Enid's hands, staring defiantly up at the sick son of a bitch in front of me as she shuffles over to stand behind Rick, Carl, Aaron, and Gabriel.

"Careful, Carrot Top," Davey snaps, sneering down at me.

"Does your boss know how much you like little girls?" I hiss, pleasantly surprised and grateful that my voice comes out strong and clear despite days without uttering a damn thing.

His face betrays him for a moment, fear flashing in his eyes, and I know I've got him. Negan's a monster, and I  _ will _ kill him… but even that son of a bitch draws the line somewhere, if this guy's sudden terror is any indication.

"Oh, dear..." I breathe triumphantly, eyes boring into his. "Seems I'm not the one needin' to be careful here. I just  _ hate _ to think what'd happen to you if Negan were to somehow find out about-"

"You don't know shit," Davey snarls, false bravado firmly back in place as he spits on me.

"Oh, but I do, Davey," I smile up at him, ignoring the saliva now dripping down my cheek. "I know what happens to men like you when their secrets get out."

I turn on my heel, letting the disgusting man stew on that as I stalk back across the street to where Rick is staring at me in complete dismay.

"They'll be gone soon," he mutters, turning abruptly and heading towards the truck Negan is standing beside, holding court with several of the Saviors, Olivia and Daryl.

I wipe the spit from my face with the back of my hand and follow him, Aaron and Gabriel on our heels.

"Whatcha got for me, Rick?" He questions, taking the drawstring bag containing the missing guns from Rick's grasp, chuckling when he takes in the contents. "Well, would you look at that? They were here after all. Funny how a little  _ holy shit, somebody's gonna die _ lights a  _ fire _ under everybody's ass!"

Olivia, no longer on the chopping block, lets out a small sob, turning to me and burying her face in my neck.

"Aww," Negan chuckles, watching me stroke Olivia's hair while she cries quietly. "Isn't that just precious?"

For a moment, I'm convinced he's gonna shoot Olivia anyway, and I hug her tighter to me. But he doesn't, turning his attention back to Rick.

"So, tell me, Rick," he says. "Which one of your fine folks almost cost Olivia the rest of her days?"

"Doesn't matter anymore," Rick avoids the question.

"No, it matters," Negan barks. "See, you need to get everybody on board.  _ Everybody. _ Or… we just go right back to square one."

With that, he holds his arm out, smirking at me pointedly. I remove myself from Olivia's grip, looking down into her tear filled eyes and nodding before letting her go, Aaron immediately taking my place beside her. I step forward, resignedly looping my arm through Negan's. He chuckles, patting my hand and leading me towards the gate as his trucks assemble to leave. Rick, Daryl, Dwight, Davey, that bitch Arat, and a couple nameless Saviors file along behind us. We reach the gate just as Rosita and Spencer are pulling in, Daryl's bike in the back of the van, no doubt.

"Helluva place you got here, Rick," Negan says, turning to face the group behind us.

My eyes flicker to Daryl out of habit, but no one seems to notice. He's staring at the ground. I feel my heart shatter all over again. I can't watch them take him away, not again. I can't…

"Give me a second," Rick says, his gaze flickering from something outside the gate I can't see to Negan and back.

"No," Negan smirks.

" _ Please, _ can you just… just give me a second?" Rick pleads.

Negan seems to enjoy that, staring gleefully at the begging man before him. Sadistic, evil son of a bitch. He nods his assent and Rick sprints towards one of the houses just outside our walls.

"So," Negan says, glancing down at me. "You like music, Little Red?"

He begins to hum a jaunty little tune I almost recognize, trailing his fingers down the forearm still linked through his elbow and taking my hand in his, twirling me around. He stares at me expectantly and I realize he actually wants an answer. I nod quietly, averting my eyes.

"You know, Daryl here, he  _ loves _ music," he says conspiratorially, and my eyes snap to his. "Can't get enough of it. I've been treating him to my private collection, tryin' to give him a little fuckin' culture, but he just  _ insists  _ on the same old tunes."

What the hell is he talking about? What does that  _ mean? _ Negan chuckles at my obvious confusion, then picks back up humming again, engaging me in some kind of weird little two step waltz.

"And we're breakin' out the good champagne," he sings, dipping me low to the ground and lifting me back up. "Sittin' pretty on a gravy train."

I chance another glance at Daryl. He's still staring at the ground, his breath hitching in his chest. They're torturing him. Beating him at the very least. The bruises on his face are all at different stages, some fresh, some starting to green up around the edges.

"No looking," Negan chides, placing his index finger beneath my chin, turning my face to his. "Remember?"

I stare him down, again refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking away first. He beams down at me, chuckling, then resumes humming, stopping only when Rick returns. Michonne is with him, stone faced, carrying a decent sized deer over her shoulders. So that's what she's been up to all day.

"Look at  _ this! _ " Negan crows, finally releasing me, but Michonne, having spotted Daryl, pays him no mind.

"I thought she was out scavenging," Rick informs Negan, holding aloft the sniper rifle Michonne had presumably taken with her. "She was hunting. This one never came inside. We kept it near the line."

"Look at this," Negan repeats, taking the rifle. " _ This _ is somethin' to build a relationship on. Good for you, Rick! This is readin' the room and gettin' the fuckin' message. I've said it before, I'm gonna say it again. You, sir… are  _ special. _ "

There's that fucking word again. My stomach is in knots. This is it, this is the part where he leaves, taking Daryl back to whatever hell they're putting him through.

"Now that you know we can follow your rules…" Rick starts, bargaining.

"Yes?" Negan drags out the word.

"I'd like to ask you if Daryl can stay."

My heart leaps into my throat. It's a slim,  _ slim _ fucking chance, but maybe… maybe.  _ Please. _

"Not happenin'," Negan says firmly, and I swear I can feel my lungs collapsing. "You know what? I dunno. Maybe Daryl can plead his case.  _ Maybe _ Daryl can sway me."

He turns and looks at Daryl, whose eyes are still glued to the ground in front of him.

"Daryl?" Negan prompts.

He remains silent. I knew he would. He's not gonna beg.

"Well, you tried," Negan chuckles, turning back to Rick. "Now what you gotta do-"

"Please."

The word escapes my lips before I realize I'd made the decision to speak.

"Little Red!" Negan crows, turning to me smugly. "I'll be damned, she  _ does  _ speak. Now, I know you're probably not used to bein' told no, you know, with a face like that and all, but Daryl's made his choice. I'm sorry, sweetheart, my hands are tied."

His hands are tied. He turns back to Rick and I watch Daryl, pleading silently for him to look at me  _ just one time. _ Just once. To just… I need some kind of sign he hasn't given up, that he's not broken. He doesn't.

"Now," Negan says, all business. "What you gotta do is get over that tall wall of yours and try harder out there.  _ Earn  _ for me. Because we're comin' back soon, and when we do, you better have somethin' interesting for us, or Lucille… she's gonna have her way. I want you to hear that again. If you don't have something _ interesting  _ for us… somebody's gonna die. And no more magic guns."

He turns away, leaving Rick staring defeatedly at the ground.

"Arat! Grab that deer," he orders. "It's gettin' late, let's go home."

Before anyone can take that deer from Michonne's shoulders, she tosses it unceremoniously to the ground and stalks away.

"Man…" Negan laughs, watching Michonne amusedly. "I love a gal that buys me dinner and doesn't expect me to put out."

He chuckles, then turns to me.

" _ Speaking _ of dinner," he says. "I'd like to invite you to join me. I find that I enjoy my meals more when they're shared with a beautiful woman, and I  _ promise _ you… there will be  _ plenty _ to fill you up."

I stare up at him, stricken. Is he fucking  _ joking? _ No… he's the picture of sincerity, patiently awaiting my answer. I square my shoulders, then look up at him sweetly. He grins, already planning his victory speech, no doubt.

"Suck my nuts," I simper, beaming at him as I echo Abraham's last words.

The look that crosses his face is not what I expect it to be. Annoyance. Surprise. Or maybe even anger. Any of those, I would have expected. Instead, he giggles. He fucking  _ giggles! _

"Damn!" He crows, pumping his fist gleefully before clapping his hand on Rick's shoulder. "I _knew_ I liked her. Man… I don't usually take 'em ginger, but _this_ one… well, shit. She's fiery! I _love_ that. It's always the quiet ones, isn't it? Oh, I am not done with you, Little Red."

No. No, you're sure as hell not. Negan chuckles, turning away.

"I'll take that," Dwight says, prompting Spencer to step away from Daryl's bike, patting the gas tank before turning to Rosita. "Rosita. Got a little thank you."

He produces Abraham's hat from his pocket and tosses it to her.

"It's all you're gettin' back," he sighs. "Took all your guns, most of your beds… I hope you find a place to lay your pretty little head," he chuckles, mounting the bike. "Did you find anything else out there?"

"Just your dead friends," she says flatly, dusting the hat off and placing it on her pretty little head.

This doesn't seem to phase Dwight, though. He starts up the bike, revving the engine a few times before pulling up next to Daryl.

"You can have it back," he assures him. "Just say the word."

Daryl says nothing. Dwight takes off down the road on the bike Daryl built, Daryl's crossbow and vest on his back.

"So," Negan says pleasantly, regarding Rick. "Nobody died. And you know what I think? I think you and I, we've refined our understanding. Let me ask you somethin', Rick. Do you want me to go?"

Rick exhales sharply, tears in his eyes as he looks around in disbelief.

"I think that'd be good," he says flatly.

"Then just say those two  _ magical _ words," Negan prompts.

No. Don't you fucking dare. But he has to. I know that. We have no guns. We have no choice. Rick dips his head, looking at the ground.

"Thank you," he mutters.

"Don't be fuckin' ridiculous," Negan chuckles, shit-eating grin firmly in place. "Thank  _ you. _ "

Before he can go into his farewell speech, the snarls of a single walker float through the air as it shambles towards our open gates.

"Another one," Negan points out breezily. " _ You  _ need our help. Davey, hand me that candlestick over there."

Davey obliges, tossing the candlestick to his boss. No. Absolutely fucking not. We are  _ not  _ helpless.

"You know what I think, Rick?" Negan questions, turning towards the walker. "I think we're both gonna come outta this winners. Watch my form!"

Before he can swing the candlestick, I lunge for the walker, sweeping its legs out from under it and sending it sprawling to the ground. I kneel beside it, digging my thumbs into its eye sockets and hurling its head into the asphalt, the back of its skull caving in after just one hard blow. I get to my feet, catching Negan's eyes, taking some pleasure in the shock I find there, and curtsy delicately. Go ahead and take our guns.

"Mm," Negan grunts, shaking his head as I stride past him. "Little Red, you are full of surprises. I _really_ like that."

"I don't give a shit  _ what _ you like," I hiss, not bothering to look at him as I perch myself cross-legged on the back of our Chevy.

"Let's move out!" Negan orders, then turns to continue berating Rick for just a few more moments as his men pile into their vehicles.

I just sit and watch as Daryl disappears into the back of a truck, again, vanishing from my sight,  _ again. _ It's not until Rick's pulled the gates shut that I start to let myself feel the loss all over again. It's mind numbing. No physical pain I've ever felt could amount to the agony I feel. I'm trying to tell myself he didn't  _ 'plead his case' _ because he couldn't, not because he didn't want to, but-

"We shoulda made a deal with them when we could've!"

Shit. Before I can shed a fucking tear, Spencer is yelling, he and Rick in the middle of some kind of argument. Probably about the guns and food Spencer had stashed away for himself. Rick is walking away, but Spencer's not having it.

"Oh, yeah, we're  _ so  _ lucky," Spencer continues, gradually becoming louder and more belligerent. "You've led us all to the Promised Land! Isn't that right, Rick?! Here we are! I guess Glenn and Abraham were  _ lucky, _ too?"

This stops Rick in his tracks. He murmurs some kind of threat I can't hear clearly over the blood suddenly rushing in my ears. How fucking dare Spencer even so much as  _ mention  _ their names? I hurl myself from my perch on the car, marching towards him as Rick continues to walk away.

" _ You weren't there, _ " I growl, grabbing Spencer by the shirt collar and pulling him down to meet my eyes. "I don't know what you  _ think _ you know about what went down, but if you point your fuckin' finger and blame him again, after  _ everything he's done for you, _ everything we have  _ all  _ done for you… I'll break your fingers off your body and  _ feed _ 'em to you, do you  _ understand? _ "

Spencer nods frantically and I release him from my grasp, stalking angrily away from the cowardly little man. Spencer is out of line, but he's not entirely wrong. This… this  _ surrender? _ I can't have it. Daryl deserves more and we  _ owe _ it to Glenn and to Abraham to fight. To give it everything we fucking have  _ and then some. _ We will  _ not _ just kneel.


	85. Cool, I'll Wait

**Chapter 85**

They didn't take my bed. Seems I'm about the only one. Michonne had gone out again shortly after Negan and his pack of sycophants left, needing to blow off some steam. She came back angrier than she'd been when she left, having discovered the smoldering remains of the mattresses the Saviors took discarded on the side of the road less than a mile from our walls.

My room is entirely untouched. Pristine. Even Daryl's things remain exactly as I'd left them, not a single item out of place. I hate myself for it. I wonder idly who told Negan which room belonged to me -Aaron, most likely- then realize it doesn't matter. I'm not sleeping in this room. I'm not sleeping on this bed. I take Daryl's pillow, pressing it to my face, inhaling the faint scent of him that lingers.

I wish Carol was here. She tries so damn hard not to be anyone's mom, but… she's as close as I've got. I  _ miss _ her. I miss Glenn, Abraham, Beth, Hershel, T… my mama. Daryl. Fuck, sometimes I even miss Merle. He was good for a laugh when he wasn't being a fucking jackass. I wipe my tears away, getting back to my feet. I can't stay in this room. This empty fucking house. I can't.

I find myself on Rick's doorstep. He and I haven't spoken to each other, not since before Negan. But I have nowhere else to go. I'm trying to decide whether to knock or not when the door flies open, Rick himself standing in the doorway, Michonne just behind him. My eyes brim with tears, betraying me despite my best efforts.

"Can… can I stay here?" I rasp, hating my voice for cracking.

"Yeah," Rick nods, tears filling his own eyes as he steps aside. "Yeah, of course. Come in."

I step into the mostly empty living room we'd all slept in on that first night here in Alexandria. There were a lot more of us then. I sink onto the window seat, pulling Daryl's pillow to my chest. It's the only thing I brought with me. Michonne and Rick stand a few feet away from me, both eyeing me uncertainly.

"Daryl," I choke on the tears, suddenly wrenching themselves free of my body, unable to explain further.

Tidal waves of grief tear through me, my body folding in two as I sob violently, Rick sinking down beside me and pulling me into his arms. I'm still so angry with him, but not for cooperating with Negan. He had to do that. He kept us all alive today. I'm angry with him for giving up. We  _ owe  _ it to Glenn and Abraham. My sobs cease eventually, replaced with great, shuddering breaths as I try to gulp in enough air to sustain me.

"I couldn't, couldn't stay there, in that house, not with, with, with… everyone's gone," I say between gasps. "I need, need, need to, I need to go, I need Maggie. I need to see, to see Ma-maggie."

"Adie…" Michonne sighs, crouching down before me. "If they come back and you're not here…"

"Say, say, say I'm, I'm out sca-scavengin'," I snap, articulating as best I can around my own heaving breaths. "Tell, tell them what, what, whatever you need to. I need, need to  _ see  _ her."

" _ You can't, _ " Rick says firmly.

I look at him. I know he's trying to keep us all alive, I know he thinks this is the way… but this isn't a  _ life. _

"Rick," I say sharply, my breath evening out. "I  _ can _ and I'm  _ goin' to. _ Soon as you and Aaron come back from your run to fetch more shit for Negan's men."

"Adie-"

"No!" I snarl. "I'm  _ goin'  _ to Hilltop. And when I've  _ seen _ her,  _ made sure _ she's safe… I'm comin' back and we're gonna figure out how to get Daryl back and what to do after. You're wrong, Rick. Rollin' over, just, just  _ lettin' _ 'em steamroll right over us. After what he did?! What he took from us? From  _ Maggie?! _ "

Rick looks stricken, staring at me as I leap to my feet, still clinging to Daryl's pillow, breathing heavily, yelling at him for the first time since I met the man in Atlanta what feels like a lifetime ago. Michonne is silent, sharp eyes flickering between the two of us.

"What do you  _ want _ me to do, Adrienne?" Rick demands.

"I  _ want _ you to fight!" I explode, rage taking hold of me and not letting me go. "The same thing we've  _ always _ done, Rick, I  _ want  _ you to remember who the fuck you are! Who  _ we _ are! What we can do!"

"We don't have the numbers!" He snarls. "We don't have the  _ weapons _ , we don't have the  _ people. _ "

"So we'll find more! We-"

"It's  _ over, _ Adrienne! You don't have to like it, but if you're gonna stay here, you have to accept it!"

" _ If _ I'm gonna stay here?" I sputter, shocked.

"If you can't play by Negan's rules, I can't have you here," he spits.

"Rick…" Michonne breathes.

He opens his mouth, then closes it again, shame momentarily clouding his features. He turns abruptly, stalking angrily towards the stairs.

"If we don't fight now…" I start, voice low and calm despite the tears slipping down my cheeks. "Then we won't ever get Daryl back and Abe and Glenn died for  _ nothin'. _ We  _ owe  _ them, Rick!"

Rick just stomps up the stairs, disappearing into his bedroom and slamming the door. Michonne eyes me for a moment, then opens her mouth to say something. I hold my hand up, and she stops, sighing heavily.

"I'd like to be alone now," I tell her, voice trembling, crossing back towards the front door.

"Adie," she soothes, grabbing my shoulders, wheeling me around to face her. "You're  _ not  _ alone. Stay."

But I can't. I can't stay here. I tear myself away from her and sprint back to my own house. I collapse helplessly on the porch, ragged sobs wrenching themselves from my body. The tears slow eventually and I pull myself to my feet, glaring at the front door. I don't want to go back to my still full yet utterly fucking empty room. I curl up on the porch swing, hugging Daryl's pillow to my body, inhaling the faint scent of motor oil, smoke, and pine needles. Cinnamon, sweat, gasoline…

My eyes flutter closed and I succumb to sleep despite the raw, hollow ache in my chest.

*Daryl's POV*

Maggie… Maggie didn't make it back home. My fault. This is  _ my fault. _ It's all I could think about last night in the cell. All I thought about all day today and the only thing I can think about now, staring at Glenn's picture on the floor, awake and alone with my thoughts. No one visits me anymore. Not even Adie or Merle. I know they ain't ever really been there in the first place, but now I'm truly alone.

_ Little Red. _ That's what he's been calling her, what he'd called her all goddamn day at Alexandria, keeping her on his arm like she ain't nothin' more than a trophy. She was wearing my clothes. I only dared look at her a single time, just to make sure it was really her, make sure her face was still her face. Negan asked her to come back and she'd smiled up at him… and just for a second I thought she was gonna say yes. She didn't.  _ Suck my nuts, _ she'd said. She ain't gonna kneel, neither.

After what feels simultaneously like forever and just seconds, Dwight is here to collect me for fence duty again. That's the dumbass choice I made when I didn't give up my identity. I'm out here with several other prisoners, trying like hell not to get bit, when there's a noise in the distance. Gunfire, coming from the back of one of Negan's trucks.

Oh, what the hell?

I stare in horror as Carl tumbles from the vehicle, Dwight taking him down and holding him at gunpoint.

"Dwight," Negan warns, prompting the man to step aside. "Back off. Is that any way to treat our new guests?"

He steps towards Carl, offering his hand to the boy. That's when I know he's here on his own. Rick, Adie, Michonne… none of 'em would've let Negan get that close to him if they were here. They ain't coming for me.

"C'mon, kid," Negan says, waiting for Carl to take his hand. "I will show you around. You know, you do the same damn stink eye as your dad, except it's only  _ half _ as good 'cause… well, you know, you're… missin' an eye."

Carl looks down, refusing to acknowledge him. He fuckin' better get up. He's gonna get himself killed. How the hell did he even get here?

"Really?" Negan chuckles. "You're really not gonna take my hand? 'Cause you're lucky you even still  _ have _ a hand. Same as your boy Daryl over here, now that I think about it."

Negan's turned his attention to me, watching as I stand pressed up to the chain link, trying to figure out how the fuck I'm gonna get Carl outta this place without getting us both killed.

"How's the job goin', Daryl?" He smirks. "Hot enough for you? Yeah, it'd be tough with one arm."

He chuckles and turns back to Carl, who has seemed to realize at this point that his only shot at getting outta this alive is to take Negan's hand.

"Ah, smart kid!" Negan exclaims, pulling the boy to his feet. "Now, come with me. Dwighty boy, why don't you grab Daryl, take 'im to the kitchen, do a little grub prep. New plan, boys. Let's burn the dead, unload the truck later. Damn, I am not gonna have time to screw  _ any  _ of my wives today. I mean, maybe one…"

He stares pointedly at Dwight, gloating as Dwight grabs me by the arm, doing whatever he's told. I feel no sympathy for Dwight. I'd never let my wife take the fall for me. I'd've died before Adie... what the fuck, my  _ wife? _ She ain't my… been out in the heat too long. She ain't my wife. Ain't like she'd have me anyway. Ain't like I got the energy to care.

But I do care. Still.

*Adrienne's POV*

I'd made up my mind to go to Hilltop, go to Maggie, but in an unfortunate fucking plot twist, shortly after Aaron and Rick left for their run, Michonne took off to _'figure some things out',_ Enid hopped the wall, fucked off god only knows where, and Carl went to track her down. That was _yesterday._ First thing this morning, Eugene and Rosita went out to _'scavenge',_ and I'm almost a hundred percent certain that shit's a lie, but I don't have the wherewithal to give a fuck. Spencer and Gabriel took a car out to scavenge as well, and I'm pretty sure that shit's the truth, but I'm still worried about 'em.

In the end, I'm left here to look after Alexandria by my goddamn self while the majority of the people I give a shit about are dead, taken, or otherwise MIA. It's bullshit. But someone had to stay. Figures it'd be me. So here I sit, hanging out at Rick's with Olivia for the second day in a row, playing with Ass-Kicker and wishing I were just a little more selfish. That I could just go.

"Hi, baby," I coo, bouncing the toddler in my lap, her big, brown eyes staring up at me adoringly. "Hi, Judy. You know what? You stink."

She giggles, clapping her fat little baby hands.

"Mhmm," I chuckle, unable to help myself. "You know, it's a drag, Jude. All these diapers... when you gonna start usin' the potty and pullin' your weight around here, huh?"

She gurgles, babbling happily while I change her. The Saviors didn't take the diapers. Only the wipes. We can make do with a wet rag, though. It's not like baby shit is the worst smell we encounter on the daily. It's almost preferable to the sickly sweet stench of rotting flesh, if I'm being honest. Once she's fresh and clean, I lean forward, blowing a raspberry on her soft belly. She cackles with delight, kicking her legs and grabbing my face in her tiny hands.

"You're a natural with her," Olivia beams, standing in the doorway while I redress Judy. "You'd be a great mom."

"Not hardly," I scoff, chuckling as I wrangle Judith's feet into her socks. "I'm a terrible influence, isn't that right, baby? Huh? Huh? Yeah."

I nuzzle her neck as she giggles happily. Judith might be the only person who thinks I'm as funny as I like to think I am. She laughs at me no matter what I say. Great mom. Yeah, right. Olivia just eyes me knowingly, saying nothing else. She can think whatever she wants, though. I don't mind. What the hell does she know?

"A, B, C, D, E, F, G…"

I hold Judy's hands in mine, clapping along in time with the song while Olivia dances about ridiculously, the two of us having come to the unspoken agreement that regardless of whatever bullshit we're dealing with today, all the heartache and loss, Judy will have none of that. 

Our sadness doesn't have to mean her sadness.

*Daryl's POV*

By the time I see Carl next, he's been taken to the large room in which Negan keeps his harem of wives. Dwight shoves me into the room first, a tray bearing an array of fruits and cubed cheese in my hands. Carl's looking on disgustedly while Negan practically shoves his tongue down Sherry's throat. Don't look like she minds it much, and I almost feel sorry for Dwight. Almost. I look away. I don't even like Sherry and it's still uncomfortable to watch. Negan breaks the kiss, chuckling smugly at Dwight's stricken face before sauntering over and harpooning a cheese cube on a toothpick, popping it into his mouth and chewing.

"Carl," he says, mouth still full. "Will you grab this tray for me?"

Carl leans forward and I hand him the tray. What the hell is he doing here?

"Why do you got him here?" I blurt, glaring at Negan.

"Whoa!" He snaps, feigning shock at my insubordination. "What we talk about when you're not here… is none of your business."

He turns and offers a wily grin to Sherry. I hate him. I wanna hit him, but I can't keep Carl safe if I get thrown back into my cell for bad behavior.

"Do  _ not  _ make me put this toothpick through the  _ only eye he has, _ " Negan threatens, turning back to me. "You go with Dwight. He'll get you a mop. Dwighty boy! Fire up that furnace. I'll be down in a few. Time for a little déjà vu."

Fire up the furnace? Jesus, he's gonna burn Carl. I ain't gonna let that happen. I already fucked up once, got Glenn killed. I ain't gonna let him hurt Carl.

"Come on, kid," Negan gestures for Carl to follow him from the room and my heart plummets.

How am I gonna get him outta this? I lock eyes with Sherry. She knows. She knows what's about to happen 'cause she's watched it before. And she  _ still _ fuckin' sold out. Dwight grabs me and sweeps me from the room. I gotta figure this shit out. I ain't gonna just fuckin' mop the floors while that goddamn psychopath sears the skin off Carl's face. I won't.

-

It ain't for Carl.

Dwight dragged me downstairs, down to the ground floor of the old factory that serves as Negan's compound. Down to the furnace. Didn't take much to figure out it ain't for Carl. Dwight and some other prick spilled the beans, gossiping like I wasn't even in the room. Eventually, Negan announces his arrival, slamming that damn baseball bat into the railing as he leads Carl down the stairs. His timing is impeccable. The iron is glowing red in the flames of the furnace, Dwight tending to the fire religiously.

As we all kneel down for the fuckin' king of this godforsaken place, I glance at the man bound to the chair before the furnace. Negan's most recent bride Amber's old boyfriend. He'd apparently skipped out on a job to spend time with Amber. The iron is for him. I know it ain't right, but I can't help but feel relieved. It ain't for Carl.

"You know the deal," Negan announces, handing off his bat to the boy beside him. "What's about to happen is gonna be hard to watch. I don't wanna do it. I wish I could just ignore the rules and let it slide, but I  _ can't.  _ Why?"

"Rules keep us alive," Negan's sycophants state in unison as he saunters down the stairs to the next landing.

"That is right," he says, coming to a stop at the railing, Carl right behind him. "We  _ survive. _ We provide security to others. We bring civilization back into this world. We are the Saviors. But we can't do that without rules. Rules are what make it all work. I know it's not easy. But there's always work. There is  _ always _ a cost. Here, if you try to skirt it, if you try to cut that corner…"

He pauses, allowing the echo of his own booming voice to reverberate around the room. He chuckles, satisfied.

"Then it is the iron for you," he finishes. "On your feet."

He makes his way to the floor while we all rise, Carl two steps behind him. Now that Carl's closer and I can see past his hair, I realize the bandages covering his missing eye have been removed. I know he don't want nobody seeing it. He's clearly been crying, but looks otherwise unharmed. Negan pats the man tied to the chair, then turns to Dwight.

"D…" he prompts, pulling on the thick work gloves meant to protect his skin from the heated metal he's about to press to another man's face.

Dwight obliges, using a long, metal hook to lift the glowing iron from the furnace. Negan takes it from the end of the hook, turning his attention to the poor sumbitch sweating bullets on the chair.

"Mark…" he murmurs, eyes bright. "I'm sorry. But it is what it is."

With that, he presses the scorching metal to Mark's face. His howls, raw and animal, pierce the air, the smell of burning flesh filling the room. It ain't over until Mark passes out, the excruciating pain too much to handle.

"Ah…" Negan chuckles, pulling the iron from the ruined skin with a flourish, returning it to Dwight's waiting hook. "That wasn't so bad now, was it? Jesus… he pissed himself."

Adding insult to injury. Literally. Negan turns to me, still standing with the mop less than a yard from the branded man. He leans in close, right next to my ear.

"Clean that up," he murmurs.

Just like my father used to when… when I couldn't handle the pain. I swallow the bile rising in my throat and do as I'm told.

"Doc, I'm all done," Negan announces. "Do your thing."

Carson strides forward to examine the state of Mark's face, assess what he needs to do to repair the damage. Heal what he can, keep it from becoming infected. Scars ain't the worst of it. That's a fact I'm well acquainted with.

"Well, the pussy passed out," Negan says flatly. "But it's settled. We're square.  _ Everything _ is cool. Let Mark's face be a daily reminder to him  _ and  _ to everyone else that the rules… matter. I  _ hope _ that we all learned somethin' today, because I don't  _ ever… _ wanna have to do that again."

He winks, knowing not a single goddamn person in this room believes the lie. He enjoys this. He gets off on inflicting pain, on dominating men he deems lesser than him. Relishes in it.

"Some crazy shit, huh?" He questions conspiratorially, murmuring in Carl's ear like he's imparting some great piece of wisdom. "You probably think I'm a lunatic. Come on. Let's go figure out what to do with you."

*Adrienne's POV*

"Olivia?" I question, peering into the kitchen where she's washing the dishes she'd used for Judy's lunch.

Judy is more than happy to sit on my lap and eat with her fingers, but Olivia insisted on a plate and fork for apple slices and jam. It makes no damn sense to me, but I don't have to wash anything so I won't complain.

"Yeah?" She questions with a smile, wiping her hands on her apron.

"I'm just gonna go check the gate while she's down for a nap," I tell her, growing quite concerned with the fact that no one is back yet.

Olivia nods her assent like I'm not just gonna do whatever the hell I'm gonna do regardless, and I make my way out the door and down the street. No one's back. Michonne can take care of herself, I'm not too worried about that, but Rick wasn't gone an hour before I fucking  _ lost  _ Carl. I let him go get Enid, I trusted him enough to come back, and I was  _ wrong. _ I scramble up the ladder at the watch point just inside the gate, squinting down the road in the afternoon sun.

Where the hell are they? 

*Daryl's POV*

After the ironing, I'm herded straight back out to the fence, Carl disappearing with Negan once again. Not for long, though. Eventually, Negan has returned to his trucks, assembling a small convoy to take somewhere. He's got Carl.

"Daryl!" He snaps his fingers at me from the passenger window of the cube van he's riding in. "You seem worried, so I'm takin' the kid home."

"If you do anything to him-"

"Dwight!" He barks, Dwight appearing behind me. "Daryl needs a time out. Put him back in his box for a while. And tell Sherry to ready the welcome wagon. I intend to bring Little Red back with me and I want her to feel  _ comfortable. _ "

With that, he's off, flipping me the bird as Dwight hauls me inside and back to my cell. I ain't in there too long, this time. I hear footsteps approaching within minutes of being locked in, then someone slips a sheet of paper under my door and scurries away. The hell?  _ 'Go now', _ scrawled across the front in loopy, feminine writing. Sherry. It's gotta be. On the back of the note… a lockpick and key, my key, the one that goes to my bike.

*Adrienne's POV*

I'm back at Rick's when there's a knock on the door. Probably Tobin again. He's been stopping by every so often, making the rounds just to  _ 'see if we're okay.' _ He means well, but it's grating. We're not okay. We're just pretending to be so we don't upset Judith.

But it's not Tobin. It's Negan, toting Carl behind him, standing in Rick's kitchen, looking me up and down. Just Carl. Where the fuck is Enid? Shit. I send up a silent prayer to the universe that Judy stays quiet. That she's still sleeping, though it's about time for her to be up and ready to play. We've been in Alexandria long enough for her to develop a routine, and I hope like hell this is the day she sleeps just a little longer. Just long enough to get him out of this house.

"Little Red!" He greets warmly, taking my hand in his and brushing his lips against it. "Where's Rick?"

"Scavengin'," I spit, snatching my hand away. "Out lookin' for more shit for you."

"Cool," Negan says, unphased at my less than warm reception. "I'll wait."

"Um… he went out pretty far," Olivia stammers nervously. "They might not be back today. We're running really low on everything."

Oh, fuck, Olivia. Don't let this asshole see you cry. She's trembling, terrified.

"We're practically starving here," she finishes tearfully.

"Starving?" Negan asks, looking her up and down pointedly. "You? By  _ 'practically' _ you mean not really."

At that, Olivia's face crumbles and she dissolves into tears. Negan turns to face me and Carl, chuckling at his own cruelty while Olivia sobs behind him.

"What the hell's wrong with you?" I blurt, glaring at the asshole in front of me.

"Really?" He scoffs. "You people seriously don't have a sense of humor."

He sighs disparagingly, then turns back to the crying woman.

"Excuse me," he murmurs, sauntering over to Olivia. "What's your name again?"

"Olivia," she spits through gritted teeth.

"Right," he sighs, the picture of forced contrition as he places a hand on her arm. "Olivia."

She stiffens at his touch, then whirls around to face him.

"I am sorry for having been so rude to you just now," he says, faux remorse rattling Olivia further. "And it looks like I'm gonna be here for a while, awaiting your  _ fearless  _ leader's return. And if you'd like… I think it would be enjoyable to fuck your brains out."

Is he fucking shitting me? Olivia's stricken expression turns to anger, her eyes narrowing.

"I mean, if, you know, you're agreeable to it," he continues.

He doesn't get the chance to continue his pitch, Olivia finally finding her courage and slapping him across the face. Hard. I'm filled with a bizarre mixture of pride and fear. Pride because she stuck up for herself. Fear, because he hasn't moved yet and very well could decide to kill her for her outburst.

"I am about  _ fifty _ percent more into you now," he breathes, like it's a fucking compliment. "Just sayin'. All right, well… I'm just gonna put my feet up 'n wait for my stuff to get here. Unless, uh…"

He turns to me, grabbing a lock of my hair and twirling it around his index finger.

"Unless you'd like to take me up on the offer," he smirks, knowing he's rejected before I even have to say it, then turns back to Olivia. "Olivia… would you be a  _ lamb _ and make us a little lemonade? Now I know I left y'all some of that good powdered stuff."

"Well, I'm supposed to-"

I glare at her sharply. You're supposed to not say anything to him about the baby. Luckily, before she can finish, Negan interrupts. He's truly uninterested in anything that doesn't directly affect him. That works for us.

"Make it!" He commands. "Make it. Take your time. Make it good."

I nod at Olivia and she scurries from the house, off to fetch Precious his juice.

"Carl," I murmur. "Where's-"

"She's safe," he whispers, just as Negan turns back towards us.

"All right!" He crows. "Take me on the grand tour."

We follow him through the house, where he proceeds to make himself at home in each room. Running water unnecessarily, flinging darts at Carl's dartboard, getting closer and closer to Judith's bedroom with every step. Finally, we're here, just outside her door. My heart is lodged firmly in my throat. This is it.

"How 'bout this one?" He questions, striding towards the door.

"Oh, it's, it's just a water heater." Carl bluffs.

"Are you serious, kid?" He snorts, not buying it. "Come on."

He opens the door, stopping short when he sees Judith, wide-awake, big brown eyes staring curiously up at the man with the bat.

"Oh-ho my…" he breathes, stepping into the room.

I slip past him, lifting Judy from her crib while he passes his bat off to Carl. Like hell he's gonna put his hands on her. I place her on my hip, arms wrapped around her protectively.

"Look at  _ this _ little angel," Negan grins, holding out his hands.

"Why don't you look at somethin' else?" I snarl, holding the baby closer to my chest.

"Little Red," his face lights up, all smiles as he looks into Judith's inquisitive eyes. "You're gonna wanna hand me that baby. Wouldn't want anything…  _ unfortunate _ to happen to his other eye."

He nods at Carl, who glares at the floor. I feel my knife hanging on my belt, it's weight reassuring. I could slit his fucking throat right here… then we'd have to deal with the posse he'd brought with him, though. More people would die. I press my lips to Judy's head, inhaling the mild floral scent of her baby wash. Rick… Rick would hand her over.

"You hurt a hair on her head…" I warn, placing Judy into his outstretched arms.

He grins indulgently down at Judith, striding out of the room with the baby I was supposed to protect.

What the hell am I gonna do?


	86. Much Better Off

**Chapter 86**

"Damn that smells good," Negan sighs.

He's cooking dinner. Spaghetti. In Rick's house. I'm seated at the bar while Carl whips up the dinner rolls. Like we have all this food to just waste. This whole thing is fucking bizarre. Negan sent Olivia away to fetch more powdered lemonade, and she's been gone several minutes.

Judith is in my arms, Negan having given her back to me when he decided to play Emeril in Rick's kitchen. I haven't had two seconds alone with Carl to ask him anything, like if he happened to see Daryl on his little field trip or why the fuck he thought stowing away in one of the Saviors' trucks was a smart play, never mind  _ where _ the fuck Enid is.  _ 'She's safe' _ isn't exactly a comfort knowing he'd found it perfectly acceptable to go shoot up Negan's compound on his own. His definition of safe and my definition of safe are not the same thing.

"Mmm," Negan groans appreciatively, then turns to me. "Wanna taste?"

He winks and, for the dozenth time in the last thirty minutes, my stomach does a somersault. Can stomachs get dizzy? Nausea is one thing, but this… it's something else. I stare at the red sauce coating the wooden spoon hovering near my chin and lean forward, parting my lips, allowing Negan to place the spoon in my mouth, letting the sauce slide over my taste buds. It feels degrading, especially given the way he's looking at me, but what the hell else can I do? If I piss him off, he could kill one of my people. Carl, Olivia,  _ Judith… _

"What do you think?" He questions, and I'm startled at the genuine curiosity in his eyes.

"It's good," I tell him quietly, internally pissed it's the truth.

He grins, satisfied with my response, turning back to his cooking just as Olivia steps back into the room, having returned with the lemonade. She takes Judith from my arms and I get started setting the table with Carl while Negan smugly watches on. Eventually, the food is done and we're all seated at the dinner table to wait for Rick. Negan is treating this as routine and it's making my skin crawl.

"I'm not waitin' for your dad anymore," he announces impatiently. "I dunno where the  _ hell  _ he is, but Lucille…"

He places his beloved bat on the seat meant for Rick, right beside him.

"Is hungry," he finishes, tucking his napkin into his shirt. "Carl. Pass the rolls…  _ please. _ "

I'd like to lodge a roll in his goddamn windpipe.

*Daryl's POV*

If it's a trick, I don't give a shit. I'm getting the hell outta here. I'm going  _ home. _ I pick the lock and sneak my way through the hallways that lead to the bikes. I'm about to round yet another goddamn corner when I hear an argument. Two Saviors, bitching at each other, heading this way. Suddenly, a jar shatters and the contents cascade across the floor from around the corner I'd been about to turn. Pickles. The sharp, briny stench of vinegar, dill, and garlic permeates the hallway.

They're right around the corner. No other choice, I silently duck into the first door I see. One of the Saviors' rooms. I breathe a little easier when I realize it's empty, that I don't have to fight anybody just yet. I spot a jar of peanut butter sitting on top of the fridge and snatch it, tearing the lid off and bringing fingers full to my lips, furiously devouring as much as possible in the shortest amount of time.

My tongue sticks unpleasantly to the roof of my mouth, but I ain't too worried about that now. I pull a gray t-shirt from a pile of clothes sitting neatly atop a small chest of drawers, changing out of my beyond filthy sweatshirt. It'll be easier to get outta here if I ain't in these dirty ass sweats, if I can blend. I change pants and throw a flannel on over the t-shirt.

Them jackasses who broke the pickle jar are still in the hallway just outside the door, so I look around the room for anything else I can use. That's when I see them.

Tiny, wooden figurines displayed on a tiny, wooden table. So this is Dwight's room, then. Well, he's been taking my shit since I fuckin' met him. Seems fitting I'd end up in his space, taking his shit for a change. It's only fair, right? Some small form of cosmic fucking justice. I root through his cabinets until I find a spoon, then take a seat in his leather armchair, scraping the peanut butter jar clean while I wait for the assholes in the hallway to finish mopping up their mess.

It don't take too much longer, and they're gone, bitching all the way. I get to my feet, tossing the empty jar to the floor. Then I flip the end table full of his dumbass fuckin' carvings over for good measure. His grandfather taught him to whittle. I wonder if he learned how to be a pussy from his granddaddy, too. I take a butter knife and a ball cap, then leave the room. A shitty weapon is better than no weapon. I steal through the empty hallways, moving deftly, silently.

Negan had himself a leak at some point, apparently. One of the walls has been opened up and gutted, the old pipes just sitting here in the hallway. I snatch up one of the pipes, hefting it in my hand. This ain't no damn butter knife. I could do some actual damage with this. I continue on my way, miraculously making it to the bike lot without anyone noticing.

"What the hell?"

Motherfucker. I guess this is what I get for thinking I was gonna get outta here without any trouble. That dumb sumbitch Negan calls Fat Joey, the asshole who left my cell unlocked.

"Woah, woah," he says, dropping the sandwich he'd been carrying, raising his hands as I approach him with the pipe. "It's cool, I swear."

No it ain't. It ain't fuckin' cool.

"Buddy, you can walk right out that back gate there, and I won't say anything to anybody," he insists, but he ain't nothin' but liar. "I'm supposed to be there now, but, listen, I'm… I'm just tryin' to get by. Just like you."

No, he ain't like me. Watching this shit go down, working for a sick sumbitch like Negan, living his life standing on the backs of other people? Nah.

"Please," he begs.

I raise the pipe, bringing it down on his head with enough force I feel it rippling through the bones in my arms. He goes down immediately, but I can't stop. I can't stop. It lands over and over and over again, blood spattering onto my stolen shirt, onto my face…

"Daryl."

Jesus. From the Hilltop. Must've been with Carl, ain't no way that's a coincidence, both of 'em here at the same time. I look down at the battered man on the ground, breathing heavily. For a few moments, I feel like a monster. Like… like Negan. Then I spot the revolver tucked into the back of Fat Joey's waistband. Rick's Colt Python. He'd been lying. He wasn't gonna let me go. He was gonna wait til I wasn't looking, shoot me in the back with my best friend's gun. I drop the pipe, snatching the Python.

"It ain't just about gettin' by here," I pant, Jesus staring at the still warm body on the ground. "It's about gettin' it all."

I mount my bike as Jesus plucks Fat Joey's radio from the ground. Smart. But we need to get the hell outta here.

"I got the key, let's go."

*Adrienne's POV*

Spencer's about to get us all killed trying to network with the Saviors, and by network with the Saviors, I mean kiss Negan's ass. He stopped by during dinner to gift Negan a bottle of Scotch, have a chat. To my dismay, this chat led to a pool game in the middle of the street, which I have been  _ requested _ to attend.

"I could never do this with Rick," Negan says jovially as Spencer places the billiard balls into the rack. "He would just be standin' there, scowling, givin' me that annoying fuckin' side eye he gives me."

At this point, Alexandrians and Saviors alike are gathering to watch the game.

"That's actually what I came to see you about," Spencer says, moving the rack now that the balls are set up. "I wanna talk to you about Rick."

"Little Red," Negan thrusts his pool cue towards me, staring at me expectantly. "If you would."

I regard him blankly, unsure what the fuck he wants me to do.

"Blow on it," he explains, offering me that shit-eating grin of his. "For good luck."

I roll my eyes, then lean forward and blow on the end of the cue. He chuckles, eyeing my lips appreciatively. Fucking pig.

"Thank you, sweetheart," he says warmly, lining up to take his shot. "All right. Talk to me, Spencer. Talk to me about Rick."

"I get what you're trying to do here, what you're trying to build," Spencer announces. "I'm not saying I agree with your methods, but I get it. You're building a network. You're making people contribute for the greater good. It makes sense. But you should know that Rick Grimes has a history of not working well with others."

"Spencer Monroe has a history of goin' rogue, gettin' himself tied up in shitty situations, and waitin' for Rick to come save his stupid ass," I blurt, automatically coming to Rick's defense despite he and I not quite being on the best of terms at the moment.

He's my brother.

"Little Red," Negan chides, amused. "Don't  _ interrupt. _ It's rude."

I close my mouth, clenching my fists and staring daggers at Spencer. Arrogant little prick. Negan turns his attention back to the weasley scumbag, all business.

"Is that so?" He questions, Spencer now lining up for his shot.

"Rick wasn't the original leader here," Spencer says heavily. "My mom was. She was doing a really good job of it. Then she died, not long after Rick showed up. Same with my brother, same with my dad."

"So everything was peachy here for what, years?" Negan questions flatly, swirling the scotch in his glass. "And then Rick shows up, and suddenly, you're an orphan? That is the saddest story I've ever heard. Good thing for you, he's not in charge anymore."

"Doesn't matter," Spencer counters. "His ego's out of control. He'll find a way to screw things up, to try and do things his way, to take over."

My blood is boiling. I'm gonna hang Spencer in a fucking tree the moment Negan and his men leave.

"That's what he did with my mom," Spencer continues. "That's what he'll do again."

"What exactly are you proposing be done about that?" Negan asks, eyeing the traitorous bastard inquisitively.

"I am my mother's son," Spencer replies. "I can be the leader she was. That's what this place needs. That's what  _ you _ need."

I can't help it. Maybe it's the pent up rage, maybe it's the anxiety, but the absolute absurdity of Spencer Monroe in charge is so god damn ludicrous, a hysterical giggle escapes my lips without my prior consent. I clap a hand over my mouth, collecting myself as both men turn to stare at me. Spencer incredulous, Negan intrigued and vaguely amused.

"So I should put you in charge," Negan turns his attention back to Spencer, ignoring my outburst. "That's what you're saying?"

"We'd be much better off," Spencer says, trying to sound confident and failing.

"You know… I'm thinkin', Spencer," Negan muses. "I'm thinkin' how Rick threatened to kill me, how he  _ clearly  _ hates my fuckin' guts. But he is out there  _ right now, _ gatherin' shit for me to make sure I don't hurt any of the fine people that live here. He is swallowing his hate and gettin' shit done. That takes guts."

I can't help but throw a little smirk Spencer's way. Poor bastard is probably too damn stupid to realize Negan's insulting him.

"And then there's you…" Negan continues, inching closer to Spencer. "The guy who waited for Rick to be gone so he could sneak over 'n talk to me to get me to do his dirty work, so he could take Rick's place. So I  _ gotta _ ask. If you wanna take over, why not just kill Rick yourself and  _ just take over? _ "

"What?" Spencer sputters, attempting desperately to backtrack. "No, no. I didn't, I don't-"

"You know what I'm thinkin'?" Negan cuts him off, at this point nearly nose to nose with him. "'Cause I have a guess. It's because… you got no… guts."

Spencer's suddenly doubled over, Negan having plunged a knife into his abdomen.  _ Guts. _ Jesus Christ. With swift and practiced precision, Negan slashes the knife horizontally across Spencer's belly, his intestines spilling from the jagged hole as he collapses to the ground, dying slowly.

"Oh, how  _ embarrassing, _ " Negan says sarcastically, standing over the dying man. "There they are. They were inside you the whole time. You  _ did  _ have guts! I've never been so wrong in my whole life!"

It's silent for a few moments. No one speaks, no one moves. Save for Negan himself, placing his knife back in its sheath and picking up the bat he'd left leaning against the pool table.

"Now, someone... oughta get up here and clean this mess up," he says, staring at the crowd of shocked, silent, and immobile Alexandrians. "Oh!"

He holds the bat out like a pointer, wielding it in much the same way the director of a symphony would wield a baton.

"Anyone wanna finish the game?" He questions gleefully, eyeing the pool table. "C'mon. How 'bout you, Little Red? I'd be willin' to bet you know your way around a set of balls,  _ and  _ you didn't seem to like him very much."

"I didn't want him dead!" I hiss.

But… is that true? He was a coward. A traitor, willing to barter lives for a chance at a miniscule bit of power. If he hadn't been behind these walls the whole time, he'd've been long dead by now.

"Suit yourself, darlin'," Negan chuckles, turning back to address the crowd at large once more. "C'mon. Anybody?  _ Anybody? _ C'mon… I was  _ winning! _ "

Then Rosita pulls out a gun, firing a single round. Just one. And she misses, the bullet lodging firmly into Negan's precious baseball bat instead of his body. Where the hell did she get that?

"Shit!" Negan roars, whirling in anger as Arat pins Rosita to the ground. "What the fuck?! Shit! You just, you just tried to kill me?!  _ You shot Lucille! _ "

"She got in the way!" Rosita spits, Arat's knife now against her throat.

Negan spots the casing from Rosita's bullet and plucks it from the ground, holding it up between his thumb and index finger.

"What is this?" He demands. "What is this? This little bad boy made from scratch? Look at those crimps... this was homemade. You may be stupid, darlin', but you showed some  _ real _ ingenuity here."

Holy shit. Rosita didn't make that bullet. She and... Eugene. They hadn't been scavenging. I knew it. Eugene has been telling us all he thought he'd found a place nearby he could use to make our own bullets since before… before Abraham and Glenn. The son of a bitch wasn't blowing smoke after all.

"Arat," Negan continues, looming over Rosita. "Move that knife up out on that girl's face. Lucille's  _ beautiful, _ smooth surface is never gonna look the same. So why should yours?! Unless… unless you tell me who made this."

"It was me," Rosita says smugly, staring Negan right in the eyes. "I made it."

"You see, now I just think you're lyin'," Negan says breathlessly. "And you lyin' to me now?! Such a shame… Arat's gonna have to cut up that pretty face. One more try."

I glare at Eugene. Man the fuck up and tell him it was you. But he won't. He's a coward. Just like Spencer.

"It was  _ me, _ " Rosita hisses, pressing her face into Arat's knife herself.

Negan chuckles delightedly, watching the blood seep from Rosita's pseudo self inflicted wound.

"Oh!" He crows, genuinely impressed. "You are such a  _ badass! _ Fine… have it your way. Arat. Kill somebody."

"No," Rosita cries, stricken. "No! It was me, it was-"

Her protests are drowned out completely by the sound of Arat's bullet, firing into Olivia. She drops dead instantly. Snuffed out in a fraction of a second.

"We had an agreement!" Rick, back and hastily stumbling forward with an injured Aaron on his arm, snarls.

He's here. But it's too late.

"Rick!" Negan crows hoarsely, wrapping his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into his side and strolling lazily over to Rick. "Look, everybody, it's Rick! Ah, your people are makin' me lose my voice doin' all this yellin'."

Rick's eyes dart frantically between the bodies on the ground, Rosita's face, and me, safely tucked into Negan's side. I don't dare push him away. I'm his leverage. He's using me to get to Rick, to keep everyone in line. I'm his armor.

"Rick…" Negan murmurs, still winded from all the excitement. "How 'bout a  _ thank you? _ I mean, look, I know we started this relationship with me beatin' the holy shit outta your friends, and because of that we're never gonna sit around 'n braid each other's hair or share our deepest, darkest secrets, but  _ how about a little credit? _ I just bent over backwards to show you how reasonable I am! Your kid? He hid in one of my trucks and  _ machine gunned _ a bunch of my men down, and I brought him home safe 'n sound,  _ and…  _ I fed him spaghetti."

Rick's eyes flick disbelievingly to his son, standing on their porch beside Olivia's body.

"Another one of your people…" he points to Spencer's mutilated corpse. "Well, he wanted me to kill you and put him in charge. I  _ took him out… _ for you. And another one, here-" he points at Rosita this time. " _ She _ shot Lucille, tryin' to kill me just now, so I gave you one less mouth to feed. And by lookin' at her? That mouth did some  _ major _ damage."

" _ Fuck you, _ " I spit, tears spilling down my cheeks as I finally come to my goddamned senses and tear myself from his grip.

"If you insist," he grins, watching me as I move to stand behind Rick.

This man has to be stopped. Before he kills us all.

"Now, personally, I wouldn't've picked her to be the one to go, but Arat?" He shrugs, at a loss. "I dunno, didn't trust her."

It's silent for a moment and I brace myself for Rick to inevitably give in, apologize like a good little servant and thank Negan for his  _ service. _ But he doesn't. Rick steps forward, angling his body protectively in front of mine. He's not backing down. Not this time.

"Your shit's waitin' for you at the gate," he spits. "Just go."

"Sure thing, Rick," Negan says amicably. "Right after I find the guy or gal that made this bullet," he holds up the shell. "Arat?"

Arat aims, and this time her would-be victim is Eric.

"It was me!" Tara hollers.

"No… it wasn't."

I'll be damned. Eugene, sobbing. Giving himself up.

"It was me," he admits, trembling violently under the threat of Arat's gun as Negan approaches. "It was only me."

"You?" Negan asks, disbelief lacing his tone.

"It required one spent casing, one four-holed turret reloader, powder, one funnel for the powder-"

"Shut up," Negan cuts him off. "I believe you."

He turns away for a moment, holding up his damaged bat as if in prayer.

"Lucille… give me strength," ge mutters, eyes shut.

What the fuck? He's… he's insane. Legitimately psychotic. He's  _ praying _ to a goddamned baseball bat.

"I'm gonna be relieving you of your bullet maker, Rick," Negan announces. "That _and_ whatever you left for me at the front gate. And however much you scavenged, it's not good enough, because you're still in a serious, _serious_ hole after today. Little Red-"

"My  _ name _ is  _ Adrienne, _ you sanctimonious prick," I growl.

"Adrienne," he amends, placing his hand on my elbow in an all too intimate fashion. "That is a beautiful name. I know we just had dinner together, but I have had a  _ very _ stressful day. I'd like you to join me for drinks back at my place."

"I'd like you to stop killin' my friends," I snarl.

"I think you need better friends," he counters, smirking.

I stare stonily up at him, and he nods, accepting my decline with the air of a man sure he'll get his way sooner or later.

"Let's move out!" He orders, ignoring Rosita's cries while his men march Eugene to their trucks. "Rick, I ain't gonna lie. Your kitchen is a goddamn mess. I'll see you next time."

And they're gone, taking Eugene with them, leaving two bodies behind for us to bury. Two  _ more  _ bodies to bury. Once they're in the ground and we've paid our respects, it's decided. We are going to Hilltop. We are going to fight. We're gonna bring Daryl home. They don't get to win. He  _ will not  _ beat us.

By morning, we're there. At the Hilltop. The gates open and there's Maggie. She's alive, she's healthy… I stifle a sob as Rick pulls her into a hug. Seeing her, knowing she's still here… I  _ needed _ that.

"You're okay?" Rick asks her.

"I'm okay," she assures him. "The baby's okay. All of us."

"You were right," Rick tells her while I step forward, wrapping her in my arms.

She's okay. She's okay and we're gonna be okay.

"Right from the start," Rick continues. "You told us to get ready to fight. I didn't listen, and I couldn't. I can now."

Then Jesus steps from behind a trailer, and behind him… no. I'm seeing things. Wishful thinking. But I'm not inventing Rick, sprinting towards him, the group behind me surging forward. Rick gets to him first, then Tara, then Michonne. I step forward, unsure.

But then he looks at me. 

Maggie gently pushes me forward, then I'm flying towards him and he's in my arms, and he's trembling, or maybe that's just me, and his head is against my chest, my hands smoothing his hair while he cries, his tears soaking into my shirt and I'm sobbing and even though I can't think of words and he doesn't know what to do with his hands right now it doesn't matter because he's  _ here. _


	87. But Can They Fight?

**Chapter 87**

*Daryl's POV*

"No!" Gregory barks. "No way in hell!"

Now that we're all here and ready to fight, it's time to convince Gregory. We need to form some kind of new alliance with the Hilltop, and any other communities out there if we're gonna take out Negan and the Saviors. All of them. Permanently.

Before meeting with Gregory, we all sat down together and they listened to me, all of 'em. I told 'em what we're up against. Numbers, artillery, everything about Negan's fucked up system I'd picked up while I was there. I didn't think I wanted to talk about it, or even if I did, I didn't think they'd wanna hear what I had to say after Glenn... but they did and it surprises me how good it feels. I'm still part of them. I didn't talk about the box. I can't.

"That was not the deal," Gregory protests, pacing about his office. "You people swore you could take the Saviors out, and you failed. So any arrangement we had is now done. Null and void. Mhmm. We aren't trade partners, we aren't friends, and we never met. Hmm? We don't know each other."

He takes a seat, thinking the matter is settled. It ain't.

"Except we are, we did, and we  _ do, _ " Adie points out. "You're a part of this."

"I owe you  _ nothing, _ " he says emphatically. "In fact,  _ you  _ owe  _ me  _ for taking in the refugees, at great personal risk."

"Oh, you were very brave staying in here while Maggie and Sasha saved this place," Jesus snarks. "Your courage was inspiring."

"Hey, don't you work for me?" Gregory asks, stricken. "Aren't we friends?"

"Gregory, we already started this," Rick points out.

" _ You _ started it!" Gregory counters.

" _ We _ did," Rick reiterates, dumbing it down into two syllables for him. "And we're gonna win."

"These are killers!" Gregory says frantically.

"Is that how you wanna live?" Rick demands. "Under their thumb, killing your people?"

"Some, sometimes we don't get to choose what our life looks like," Gregory says. "Sometimes, Ricky, you have to count the blessings you have."

"You countin' your head among your blessings,  _ Craig? _ " Adrienne snaps, earning a snort from Jesus. "We're the reason you still  _ have  _ one."

"Listen, Amanda-"

"How many people can we spare?" Maggie cuts him off.

Probably a good thing.  _ 'Amanda' _ looks like she might slit Gregory's throat. She'd probably have to leave my side to do it, though, and she ain't gonna. She keeps looking at me like I'm gonna disappear, eyes still a little teary.

"How many people here can fight?" Maggie continues, staring Gregory down.

"We?" Gregory scoffs. "I don't even know how many people we  _ have, _ Margaret. And does it even matter? I mean… what, what, what are you gonna do? Start a  _ platoon _ of sorghum farmers? 'Cause that's what we got. They grow things. They're not gonna wanna fight."

"You're wrong," Tara pipes up. "When people have the chance to do the right thing, they usually step up. I mean, people just-"

"Let, let me stop you before you break into song, okay?" Gregory scoffs. "And, by the way, who would train all this cannon fodder?"

"I will."

"Gimme a week."

"Obviously."

Sasha, Rosita, and Adie, respectively, speaking at the same time.

"Rhetorical, okay?" Gregory sing songs at them. "I don't wanna know. I never wanna hear another word about any of it, ever."

Adrienne lunges.

"Would we be better off without the Saviors, yes or no?" Rick demands, restraining her before she makes it even halfway across the room.

"Yeah," Gregory spits, staring warily at Adrienne, thwarted, slumping back against the bookshelf next to me. "Sure. Okay."

"So," Michonne says levelly. "What will you do to fix the problem?"

"I didn't say we had a problem, you did," Gregory avoids the question. "And what happens outside of my purview… is outside of my purview."

"What the hell, man?" I demand, stepping forward. "You're either with us or you ain't. You're sittin' over there talkin' outta both sides of your mouth."

"I, I, I think I've made my position very clear," he says, standing. "And I wanna thank all of you for  _ not  _ being here today. And… not having this meeting with me today or, or being seen on your way out. In other words, go out the back."

"What would it take, Gregory?" Adrienne demands, stalking towards the man behind the desk. "We've proven we're willin' to fight for you, to show  _ your people _ how to fight… what will it take?"

"Well…" his eyes drop to her chest, and he ain't even pretending to be subtle about it. "I might be willing to, to, to talk deals with you, uh, one on one. Explore further options-"

"Unbelievable," she scoffs disgustedly, throwing her hands in the air. "How are _you_ in charge? Did, did your people just let you assume authority to get you to shut the fuck up, keep you shut in here all day so you're not out there botherin' 'em?"

She turns abruptly, storming from the room. Rick nods in her direction, signalling us all to follow. This conversation ain't goin' nowhere.

"Walking ballsack," Rosita mutters.

"Wanna knock that idiot's teeth out," Sasha hisses.

"Yeah, well… we don't need 'im anyway," I mutter, joining Adrienne at the bottom of the stairs.

"Yeah, that's right," Rick agrees. "'Cause we have Maggie and Sasha and Jesus here."

"And Enid," Maggie adds, as Enid herself steps into the room from outside.

"Hey, um…" she starts, breathless.

"What's wrong?" Sasha questions.

"Nothing," she assures us. "Just… come outside."

We all file out the front doors behind the girl, Maggie stepping forward to greet the small group of Hilltop residents gathered at the bottom of the steps.

"What's goin' on?" Maggie questions.

"Hey," a woman near the center of the group greets her. "So, if you don't remember, I'm Bertie. And I owe my life to you all, twice over. A bunch of us do. Enid says that you want Gregory to get us to fight the Saviors with you. Is that true?"

"Yes," Maggie confirms.

"Do you think we can win?" Bertie asks dubiously. "That we really could beat them, us?"

"I do," Maggie tells her with a nod.

"Well, Enid says you could show us the way," Bertie replies. "I'm ready."

There's a smattering of general agreement. It ain't many but…

"It's a start," Michonne says as we trek down the hill towards the gate.

"We'll get more," Sasha sighs. "It  _ still  _ won't be enough."

"No, it won't," Rosita agrees.

"Well, we find the right stuff, then maybe we don't need the numbers," I point out. "Blow 'em up, burn 'em to the ground."

"We could check the quarry," Adie suggests. "Mining? They blow shit up all the time."

"You said there weren't just soldiers with the Saviors, that there were workers there," Tara points out. "People that didn't have a choice."

"There's always a choice," Adie mutters.

"We gotta win," I point out.

"We need more hands, another group," Rick muses. "Negan has outposts. The geography, the distance works against us. We gotta get back. They come lookin' for Daryl, we need to be there."

"You don't have to get back," Jesus pipes up, producing the walkie he'd taken off Fat Joey's body. "Not yet. It's one of theirs, long range. We can listen in, keep track of 'em."

"So, if we're not going back, what are we doin' then?" Michonne questions.

"I think it's time we introduced you to Ezekiel," Jesus grins. " _ King  _ Ezekiel."

"King?" Adrienne and Rick scoff in unison, staring at each other in surprise.

*Adrienne's POV*

We're all piled into a single vehicle, headed to a community Jesus called the Kingdom. Just one vehicle. An old, beat up Expedition. That's how small our group is now. Maggie and Enid stayed behind at Hilltop, but... it's sobering. Still, I'm grateful for Daryl's solid presence beside me. I haven't had a chance to speak with him privately, not yet, but the warmth of his arm against mine, being able to just glance to the right and  _ see  _ him there… it's enough.

It's a lengthier ride, and I'm reflecting on the information Daryl and Carl had given us about Negan, about the compound. Negan collects wives. Trophies. Some are women who just couldn't turn down the offer of being taken care of. They live like royalty, always fed, never working for a damn thing, dressed up like little dolls. Pretty birds in a cage.

And some of them are women who made a deal, married Negan in exchange for a better life for their families. Dwight's wife, Sherry. A young girl named Amber, not much older than 19 or 20. This is what Negan wants for me, why he's been inviting me to go with him. He thinks he can win me over with the promise of a full belly and a roof over my head.

Apparently, these women are all young and beautiful, which just reinforces the theory that he knows that me and Daryl are... well, whatever me and Daryl are, and only wanted me there to torture him. Parade me around. The latest, greatest toy, like he does to Dwight via Sherry. The sole purpose of these wives is to cater to Negan's… needs. To stand around, look pretty, and join him in his bed whenever the mood strikes him. It's vile. What kind of life is that?

I'm torn from my musings when Jesus abruptly instructs Rick to pull over in what looks to be the middle of nowhere. A few abandoned vehicles, the crumbling ruins of old administrative buildings, and weeds. Jesus and Rick climb out of the car, stepping a few feet away and then just… standing there.

"What the hell are they doin'?" I wonder aloud, eyeing the men engaged in what appears to be nothing more than casual roadside chit chat.

"I dunno," Daryl murmurs, glancing around impatiently.

He thrusts the door open abruptly, lurching to his feet and standing on the running board.

"Hey!" He barks. "What the hell we waitin' on?"

"Waiting for them," Jesus says loud enough for the rest of us to hear, pointing at two armed men approaching on horseback.

Oh, I don't like this shit. I follow Daryl out of the car, placing a hand above my eyes to shield them from the sun and squinting at the strangers.

"Who dares to trespass on the sovereign land of the-" one of the men shouts, stopping mid-sentence as they draw near. "Oh, shit! Jesus, is that you?"

"Who are all these people, Paul?" The other man asks warily, shrewdly regarding Rick, Michonne, Daryl, and me in turn.

"Hi, Richard," Jesus greets the man, striding forward. "Nice to see you."

"It's good to see you, too," Richard says sincerely. "Your friends, who are they?"

"This is Rick Grimes," Jesus introduces. "He's the leader of a like-minded community. These are some of his people. We would like to request an audience with King Ezekiel."

Richard dismounts his horse, squinting into the tinted windows of the Expedition suspiciously.

"Get out of the car," he orders, watching the rest of our group assemble. "You say they're a… like-minded community. Like-minded how?"

"We live, we trade, we fight the dead," Jesus says simply. "Sometimes others."

"Line up," Richard instructs.

Line up? Hell, no. Line ups are never good. Ever. They literally never end well for us.

"Okay," Daryl sighs, frustration lacing his voice. "This is a waste of time. C'mon. Let's go."

"Maybe you're right," Richard says, watching Daryl turn his back on him. "The King is a busy man. And it's a dangerous world. We don't usually allow a pack of strangers to waltz through our door."

I touch Daryl's elbow softly, glancing up at him. I don't want to line up either, but to be fair… we're a pretty intimidating bunch, rag tag as we may be. It's not unreasonable. His eyes meet mine and he softens just the slightest bit.

"We want to make the world  _ less  _ dangerous," Michonne says cordially. "And we are all here to show... the King... how serious we are about that."

"The car stays outside," Richard starts, laying out his terms. "You gotta hand over your guns."

"We only have two," Rick says agreeably, he and Carl handing over their weapons.

"Okay," Richard concedes. "Follow me."

The Kingdom is… magnificent. Gardens, lush and flourishing, green as far as the eye can see. They're growing everything from tomatoes to melons to trees, actual trees. Like a veritable orchard here in the center of a cluster of buildings that must have served as some kind of school before the turn. There are children here, laughing and playing and  _ free _ like kids used to be. And people. Everywhere.

"Holy shit," I murmur, awestruck.

"They have the numbers," Michonne grins.

"But can they fight?" Rosita questions.

"Oh, they can fight," Jesus assures us.

"Maybe," Daryl mutters.

"Morgan?" Tara blurts suddenly, and sure enough… there he is, right next to Richard.

"Hey," he grins happily, pulling her into a hug, then Sasha.

"How do you know each other?" Richard asks curiously.

"We go back to the start," Rick informs him.

"Well, the King is ready to see you," Richard announces.

The others file inside, but Rick, Daryl, and I hang back with Morgan for a moment. We need to know.

"Did you find Carol?" Rick murmurs.

"I did, yeah," Morgan nods.

"Where is she?" Daryl and I speak at the same time.

"Is she okay?" Daryl adds.

"She was here and then she left," Morgan tells us gently. "You know, she wasn't too happy, me followin' her. She wanted to get away from us, from everyone. But when I found her, she was shot. It was just a graze, I got her back here, they got doctors. They're good."

"Shot by  _ who? _ " I demand.

"Was it them?" Daryl questions.

"It was," Morgan says heavily. "She had crossed with some of them and one of 'em followed her, tried to kill her, but I stopped him."

"Stopped him?" I repeat.

"I killed him," he clarifies, nodding. "I had to. Carol was here. She got help. Now she's gone."

She was here.  _ She was here. _ But she left. She's not coming back. It's too much. If she'd just stayed put, maybe… maybe we could've changed her mind. She wanted to get away from us. We aren't worth fighting for anymore. That's the fact of the matter. I stalk inside, swiping bitterly at the tears brimming in my eyes. Anger, sadness, rejection… it all wells up inside of me and overflows, spilling down my cheeks. She  _ left _ us.

If she knew… if she knew about Glenn, about Abraham… she'd be here.

I pull myself together just before we enter the building. It's an auditorium, dimly lit by the faint glow of the sconces lining the walls. The stage, however… lit up like a beacon, illuminating one of the single most bizarre scenes I've ever laid eyes on. Richard and three other men on the stage. Well, two other men and a boy. Richard, the other standing man, and the boy are all equipped with spears, flanking the right hand side of a chair that can only be described as a throne, standing guard over the man perched upon the chair.

The guards are unnecessary. The man in the throne, presumably this King Ezekiel, is holding a golden staff in one hand, a chain in the other. Attached to the chain, flanking his left hand side… a fucking Bengal tiger, impossibly large, seated obediently beside the King, growling at my group of puny humans. I blink a few times, but each time my eyes open the scene stays the same. This… this is insane. A tiger?! I look over at Daryl for confirmation, and he looks about as baffled as I feel. He has a tiger.

"Jesus!" The King booms. "It pleases me to see you, old friend!"

"It pleases him indeed!" One of the men announces, earning a brief side eye from the King.

"Jerry," The King chides, then turns his attention back to Jesus. "Tell me, what news do you bring good King Ezekiel? Are these new allies you've brought me?"

"Indeed they are, Your Majesty," Jesus confirms, turning to introduce us. "This is-"

He stops short, eyes widening when he takes in our shocked faces.

"Oh, right," he murmurs. "Forgot to mention that-"

"Yeah, a tiger," Rick says, absolutely mystified.

"This is Rick Grimes, the leader of Alexandria, and these are some of his people," Jesus announces, leading our group down the center aisle.

"I welcome you all to the Kingdom, good travelers," The King says. "Now, what brings you to our fair land? Why do you seek an audience with the King?"

I scoot my way into a row of seats, Daryl trailing behind me, while a few of the others take to their own rows, only Rick and Michonne remaining in the center aisle. I can't take my eyes off the tiger. They have a _ tiger. _ Stupidly, I find myself wanting to pet her.

"Ezekiel," Rick starts, then corrects himself. "King... Ezekiel. Alexandria, the Hilltop, and the Kingdom… all three of our communities have somethin' in common. We all serve the Saviors. Alexandria already fought them once, and we won. We thought we took out the threat, but we didn't know then what we know now. We only beat one outpost. We've been told you have a deal with them, that you know them. Then you know they rule through  _ violence _ and  _ fear. _ "

"Your Majesty, I only told them of the-"

"Our deal with the Saviors is not known among my people," King Ezekiel cuts Jesus off, anger flashing in his eyes. "For good cause. We made you a party to that secret when you told us of the Hilltop's own travails, but we did not expect you to share-"

"We can help each other!" Jesus interrupts, insistent.

" _ Don't  _ interrupt the King," Jerry orders.

"We brought you into our confidence," King Ezekiel says firmly. "Why did you break it?"

"Because I want you to hear Rick's plans," Jesus explains.

"And what plans have you, Rick Grimes of Alexandria?" The King questions, eyeing us all skeptically.

"We came to ask the Kingdom, to ask you, to join us in fighting the Saviors, fighting for freedom for  _ all _ of us," Rick tells him. 

"What you are asking is very serious," King Ezekiel replies.

"Several of our people,  _ good people, _ were killed by the Saviors," Michonne says, stepping forward to stand beside Rick. "Brutally."

"Who?" Morgan demands.

It's silent for a few moments, all eyes on Morgan. None of us can speak.

"Abraham," I rasp eventually, tears falling from my eyes as I relive the harrowing night in the clearing. "And… and Glenn. Then Spencer. Olivia."

"They  _ took  _ Eugene," Rosita spits. "They took Daryl. He escaped. Every second he's out here, he's a _ target. _ "

My heart leaps into my throat. It's not the first time this thought has occurred to me, and I'm terrified Negan's men are gonna show up any second and... they can't take him. Not again. Unthinkingly, I grab for his hand. He envelopes my hand in his, and maybe I imagine it, but he's trembling just slightly. They're not taking him from me again.

"You gonna say you were right?" Rosita demands when Morgan doesn't speak.

"No," Morgan shakes his head, brows furrowing. "I'm… I'm just real sorry they're gone."

"Negan murdered Glenn and Abraham,  _ beat _ 'em to death," Rick tells the King.

"He gutted Spencer like an animal," I murmur quietly, guilt clawing at my insides.

Spencer and Olivia are my fault. I didn't hold things together while Rick was gone, let Enid and Carl slip away. If I'd kept them home, Carl never would've made it to Negan's compound, the Saviors wouldn't have come back so soon... I didn't do my job and that's why Spencer and Olivia are dead.

"Ordered his people to kill somebody, anybody," I continue, swallowing. "He didn't care who it was, it just  _ happened _ to be Olivia."

"Terrorized the Hilltop, set loose walkers just to make a point," Sasha adds.

She and Maggie had told us what happened. The Saviors broke down Hilltop's gates in the middle of the night, used fires and a blaring car radio to lure the dead into their community while they were sleeping. Maggie mowed down a bunch of the walkers with a tractor, crushed the shit outta that car, and saved Gregory's people.

"I used to think the deal was something that we could live with," Jesus says fervently. "A lot of us did. But that's changing. So let's change the world, Your Majesty."

"I wanna be honest about what we're asking," Rick states carefully. "My people are  _ strong… _ but there's not enough of us. We don't have guns, not enough, at least. Not a lotta weapons, period."

"We have people," Richard supplies, eyeing his King imploringly before turning his gaze to us. "And weapons. If we strike first, together, we can beat them. Your Majesty, no more waiting for things to get worse, beyond what we can handle. We set things right. The time is now."

"Morgan," The King says after a moment. "What say you?"

"Me?" Morgan blurts.

"Speak," King Ezekiel prompts him.

"People  _ will  _ die," Morgan says heavily. "A lotta people, and not just the Saviors."

"People are dyin'  _ now, _ Morgan," I murmur fervently. "Already."

"It… if we can find another way, we have to," he insists. "Maybe it's just about Negan, just capturin' him, holdin' him. Maybe... I…"

He trails off, torn.

"The hour grows late," King Ezekiel says, rising from his throne. "Rick Grimes of Alexandria… you have given the King much to ponder."

"Well, when I was a kid, uh… my mother told me a story," Rick starts, and for a moment I think he's joking.

He's not. Evidently it's story time, and if it's the one about telling ourselves we're dead again, I'm gonna scream.

"There was a road to a kingdom," Rick continues. "And there was a rock in the road. And people would just avoid it, but… horses would break their legs on it and die, wagon wheels'd come off. People would lose the goods they'd be comin' to sell. That's what happened to a little girl. The cask of beer her family brewed fell right off, it broke… dirt soaked it all up, and it was gone. That was her family's last chance. They were  _ hungry, _ they didn't have any money."

He pauses for a moment and I can see it in his eyes. In this story, Rick is that little girl, feeling powerless while his family suffers. There's a desperation in his voice, a pleading quiver as he continues the story for the King.

"She just… sat there 'n cried, but… she wondered why it was still there, for it to hurt someone else. So she dug at that rock in the road with her hands til they  _ bled, _ used everything she had to pull it out. It took hours. And then… when she was gonna fill it up, she saw somethin' in it. It was a bag of gold."

"All right," Jerry breathes happily.

"The king had put that rock in the road because he knew the person who dug it out, who did somethin', they deserved a reward," Rick continues. "They deserved to have their life changed for the good… forever."

The King considers this for a moment, looking first to his people, then glancing around at mine. Broken, but not defeated. Ready for war, ready to battle until every last one of us falls if it means a  _ chance _ at a better future. Something more.

"I invite you all to sup with us and stay til the morrow," The King announces.

"Yeah, we need to get back home," Rick sighs, deflating.

"I shall deliver my  _ decree _ in the morn," King Ezekiel insists, tapping his staff twice against the stage floor with finality.

With that, we're dismissed. Richard leads us outside and we're left to ponder what in the actual fuck just happened.

"So," I blurt, still struggling to process the giant, striped elephant in the room despite more pressing matters. "So we're just not gonna talk about the tiger?"

*Daryl's POV*

After we'd  _ 'supped' _ in the large cafeteria, where Adie and Rosita caused quite the fucking stir among the male faction of the dinner crowd, Richard had shown us to a section of three bedrooms meant for us to divvy ourselves into and stay the night in. We didn't. We'd all piled into a single room, much like we'd done that first night in Alexandria.

Adie sinks down with her back against the door, knees drawn to her chest. Sasha and Rosita take up residence on either side of her, both bitching relentlessly about the slightly less than desirable outcome of our meeting with Ezekiel. I wish one or both of 'em would move. Then I feel like a jackass for wishing that, like I'm somehow more entitled to the place at Adie's side than they are.

I take a spot on the floor in a corner by the window, Rick and Jesus dropping down on either side of me, discussing the likelihood of Ezekiel's cooperation. I'm only half listening, my focus mostly on Adie. She's not listening to the women next to her, I can tell. Her eyes are far away, settled on a spot on the wall opposite her. She's quiet and that ain't like her.

I'm sure her thoughts lie with Abraham and Glenn, and the guilt consumes me all over again. Rick notices my gaze, and I drop my eyes to my lap.

"She didn't sleep for… had to be close to three days," he murmurs softly, tears in his eyes. "Didn't eat, didn't speak, just… shut down. Watched. She was just  _ gone. _ And I, I couldn't. I couldn't. That day the Saviors came and you were with 'em and then, and then you were gone again, she… we got in a fight. She yelled at me and I wouldn't listen, or I, I couldn't listen. She wanted to fight, said we owe it to Glenn and Abraham. And I… I told her if she wasn't gonna play by Negan's rules, I couldn't have her with us."

He lets out a bitter chuckle, and I know he's feeling the guilt, too. Carrying the weight of all them lives the Saviors took from us even though it ain't his fault.

"Next mornin', me and Aaron, we went out scavenging," he tells me. "To get more shit for Negan. We get back and the Saviors are there, tellin' me Negan's in my house waitin' on me. Beat the hell outta Aaron. And then, and then the gunshots go off, two of 'em. Rosita shot at Negan, and he… he had Olivia killed. Adie thinks it's her fault. That Carl left, that… that she didn't  _ 'hold it together' _ while I was gone and that's why Spencer and Olivia are dead and Eugene was taken. Thing is, she was right. Her, Maggie, Michonne… they told me."

"You did what you had to."

He's silent and I know he don't believe me. Maybe he lost his way for a while, but he's here now. He's fighting  _ now. _ That's what counts, that's what he's always done. None of us came outta that night unscathed.

"I've been thinkin' about what you and Carl said, about Negan's wives," Rick says abruptly, lip curling in disgust. "The way he was with Adie the first time they came to Alexandria, I thought he was just doin' it to get to you. But last night… you weren't there and he still…"

My skin suddenly feels too tight for my body, every muscle tensing painfully, remembering how he'd looked at her like he could see right through and underneath her clothes, how he'd had her on his arm that day, degraded her… I watch Adie's face, that blank stare.

"He hurt her?"

"No, no," Rick assures me quickly. "No, he just… it was the same as before, he said some things to her, put his arm around her. Invited her  _ back _ with him. But you weren't there, so he isn't… it isn't just somethin' he's doin' to get to you. The way he looks at her, like, like…"

He trails off, waving his hand vaguely in frustration. I get it. He loves her, don't want nobody to hurt her. Maybe part of him is scared she'll try and make a deal with him. That she'll go back next time he asks her, or the time after that. I was afraid of that. Then I saw her face. She ain't Sherry. The conversation fizzles, along with everyone's energy. Carl's out like a goddamn light, falling into that deep sleep only teenagers seem to be capable of achieving. Rick and Michonne find each other in a corner, Michonne falling asleep with her head in the crook of Rick's neck.

One by one, exhaustion knocks 'em all down like dominoes. We learned a long time ago, you don't sleep when you can, you don't sleep. Adie's the last holdout, sharp eyes still open long after everyone else has given in to sleep. Sasha has curled sideways against the door and drifted off with her head pressed against the wall, her spine aligned with Adie's side. Rosita's head is resting on Adie's lap, Adie stroking the other woman's hair idly. I ain't seen Rosita let anyone else touch her like that, not even when she was with Abe. But Adie's different.

Not for the first time, I marvel at how someone so rough can be so soft. How those same two hands that kill with ruthless, brutal efficiency can be so damn gentle. She's  _ violent, _ but she has this featherlight touch that soothes even the most stubborn of aches. She don't know it, but we're all drawn to her when we need comfort. Wherever we are, if she's there… it feels safer. What happened back home ain't her fault.

Her eyes are still open, still watching vigilantly, when I cave and succumb to my own exhaustion.


	88. The Hard Thing

**Chapter 88**

*Adrienne's POV*

"This is life here," Ezekiel announces. "Every day."

After insisting we eat breakfast, Richard has led us to the King. Ezekiel promised yesterday he'd give us a decision today, and after a night spent awake in a strange place, I'm just about out of patience with his stalling. Still, the Kingdom is incredible. The man may be weird as fuck, but he's built a haven for the people here. This place is everything I hope Alexandria can become.

"But it came at a cost," Ezekiel continues, turning to face us as we assemble behind him. "And I wanted more of this. I wanted to expand. To create more places like this. Men and women lost their limbs. Children lost their parents because I sent them into battle against the wasted when I did not need to."

"This is different," Rick tells him.

"It isn't," Ezekiel murmurs.

"It is," Rick insists, nodding. "The dead don't rule us. The world doesn't look like this outside your walls. People don't have it as good, some people don't have it good at all."

"I have to worry about  _ my  _ people."

On one hand, I get it. I do. But on the other, turning a blind eye to the suffering of others is exactly what Gregory's doing. Ignoring anything outside of his  _ purview. _ It doesn't seem very… kingly.

"And you call yourself a damn king," Daryl scoffs angrily, steely gaze boring into the man. "You sure as hell don't act like one."

"All of this…" Ezekiel says firmly, striding slowly towards Daryl. "Came at a cost. It was lives, arms, legs."

Daryl bites his tongue, seething as the self proclaimed king turns his back and addresses Rick.

"The peace we have with the Saviors is uneasy, but it is peace," he reasons. "I have to hold onto it. I have to try."

"For how long?" I question softly. "You have peace now, but what happens when you don't? When uneasy becomes difficult and difficult becomes impossible?"

The King regards me curiously for a moment, keen eyes sizing me up. I hold his gaze. I think he expects me to squirm, to back down under his evaluation. I don't. He turns abruptly.

"Although the Kingdom cannot grant you the aid you desire, the King is sympathetic to your plight," he proclaims, wheeling back around. "I offer our friend Daryl asylum for as long as he requires it. He will be safe here. The Saviors do not set foot inside our walls."

"How long you think that's gon' last?" Daryl demands.

He whirls around and stalks away angrily, clearly rejecting the King's offer as he stomps towards the gates. Rick and the others follow him, but I'm not quite ready to give up just yet.

"Zeke… uh, King Ezekiel," I correct myself quickly. "Sorry, there's just… it's a lot of syllables, man."

Amusement flashes briefly in the King's eyes, so I continue.

"Please… consider reconsidering," I murmur. "The Saviors will take  _ everything _ you have here. Maybe not today, maybe not next week… but it  _ will  _ happen. And the Kingdom will fall."

With that, I sprint off to catch up with my people. Maybe we didn't find help here, but we at least planted the seed. We'll find allies somewhere. We have to.

"How many people do we have?" Richard questions just as I fall into step with him, Rick, Morgan, and Michonne. "To fight? I'll go with you."

"We don't even have enough to take on one outpost face to face yet," Rick tells him flatly.

"Even if we had the numbers, we don't have the weapons," I add.

"So the Kingdom has to get involved, or the Saviors will always be in charge," Richard huffs. "It isn't about soldiers. We're making them stronger. The more food we give them, the more arms, the more _ everything, _ every day any of us give them something, they become harder and harder to beat."

"All right, open it up," Daryl orders when we reach the gates. "We're gone."

"You're not," Rick says, the gates parting, our dejected little group filing out.

"No, I ain't stayin' here," Daryl protests.

"You have to. It's the smartest play," Rick points out. "You know it is. _ Try _ to talk to Ezekiel," he pleads. "Or stare 'im into submission. Whatever it takes."

Daryl's panicking. I can see it. Or maybe I'm panicking and projecting it onto him, but either way, panic is being had.

"I'm not leavin' without 'im, Rick," I plant my feet firmly, rooting myself into place.

"Yes, you are," he retorts. "If you're not there when the Saviors come back-"

"You'll  _ lie, _ " I hear the desperation in my own voice, but I don't care. "You'll tell him I'm out scavengin', huntin',  _ dead,  _ just tell him somethin'."

"Adie, we  _ need _ you," Rick says emphatically. "Negan… likes you. He'll notice if you're missin'."

"Yeah, I don't give a fuck what he likes," I point out flatly. "Tell him you exiled me. That I couldn't _play by his_ _rules._ He'd believe that."

"Adie," he breathes, stricken, guilt washing over his face.

"Rick," I snap, annoyance getting the best of me. "Can I talk to you for a sec?"

I yank him aside without waiting for an answer. 

"Adie…" he sighs. "You know-"

"Rick!" I hiss, eyes flashing. "I'm _stayin'._ _Please…_ I, I just got him back."

My voice cracks and Rick's conviction falters. I know I'm being selfish and maybe even a little immature. But I can't walk away from him. I'm fucking  _ terrified _ to so much as blink for fear he'll be gone when my eyes open again.

"Would you leave Michonne?" I question softly. "Or Carl or Judy?"

"No," he concedes, knowing if he'd said yes I'd know it was a lie.

"Don't ask me to leave him," I plead fervently. "I won't do it. I  _ can't. _ "

"Okay," he relents. "Okay. We'll, we'll… we can figure it out."

"Thank you," I breathe, tears brimming in my eyes as I pull him into a hug.

"Adie, what I said…" he trails off, fighting back his own tears. "I'm sorry."

"I know," I assure him, forgiving him instantly. "Me, too."

He hugs me tighter, affectionately rubbing my back with his thumbs. There's no guarantee this won't be our last goodbye. I think that's why he's not more adamant that I return home with them. Letting me stay… it's a gift. More time with Daryl, even if it's just a few days.

*Daryl's POV*

She's staying. I feel a little guilty about it, but predominantly… I'm relieved. I ain't too sure I'd've been able to watch her walk away, not knowing if I'd see her again. Not knowing if I'd ever get the chance to tell her… I still ain't happy I gotta stay here, but at least she's with me.

She's sparring with Morgan now, and I can't tear my eyes from her. Seems that kid, Benjamin, can't either. He's watching her every move. Man, I can't blame him. Even if she didn't look like she does, it's entertaining as hell watching her take Morgan down, watching the pacifist's patience grow thinner and thinner each time she out-maneuvers him.

Morgan's been teaching the boy how to fight with a stick, how to take down an opponent without killing them. I can't help thinking he'd be better off training with someone who understands it's kill or be killed. You ain't gotta like it, but if you wanna live, if you wanna protect your people… you have to.

"Looks like you had more weapons, after all," Richard blurts.

"Huh?"

Maybe Rick had an extra gun, stashed it somewhere? Nah, that don't make sense. I'd've seen him do it. And it ain't like he had time to do something like that, anyway.

"Your wife," Richard explains, staring at Adrienne while she relieves Morgan of his stick and pins him again, her breathless giggles ringing through the air. "I'd love to see how she'd fare against Jesus."

My wife. She ain't my wife. She… hell, I don't know what the fuck we are. Calling her my girlfriend just seems… juvenile. Dating. Nah, that shit's obsolete. Ain't like we can drive on down to the fuckin' movies or go out for drinks or whatever the hell else counts as a date. I ain't gonna correct him. If he wants to assume she's my wife, that's fine with me.

_ You ever think about it? Settlin' down? You 'n Adie? _

Jesus Christ, what the hell am I doing, thinking about this shit? We ain't even sure we get to live one day to the next. Beth thought about that kind of thing. Birthdays, holidays, weddings… people growing old and dying of natural causes. Fairytale shit. The way life is supposed to be, but that ain't the way it is.

Still… Beth believed me and Adrienne would find each other and we did. Maybe it ain't that out there, thinking about marrying her. Still, it feels stupid. Thinking about shit like this like I deserve it, like there's a chance in hell she'd say yes, like we ain't got a shit load of other things to worry about. Fairytales.

*Adrienne's POV*

"Hey," I greet, settling onto a bench beside Daryl.

After sparring a bit with Morgan, he and Benjamin had taken off to train on their own. He's training Benjamin in Aikido, a branch of martial arts in which the central pillar is to reject killing your opponents. I don't agree with it, but any combat training the kid can get is good. He'll figure out on his own that, in this world, you kill or you die or the people you love die. After they'd left, Richard told me Daryl had wandered off. I'd found him on one of the benches in the garden.

"Hey," he grunts, not bothering to look at me.

"You all right?" I question softly, picking at the loose threads on the knee of his worn jeans.

"Why didn't you go with Rick?" He asks abruptly.

He doesn't sound angry, but the question still feels like a slap in the face and I pull my hands away. I didn't go because… because the thought of never seeing him again kills me. Walking away from him, coming back days later only to find him gone... it's my worst fear.

"I couldn't leave you," I breathe, crossing my arms protectively in front of me.

"Why?" He demands, his eyes now boring into mine.

What the fuck kind of questions are these? Anger suddenly surges through my veins. It's pretty fucking clear how I feel. I've told him at least a dozen times.  _ Why _ I stayed,  _ why _ I can't leave him.

"What do you mean,  _ why? _ " I snap, tears springing to my eyes. "I couldn't leave you because I love you. More than I've ever loved anybody in my entire life, more than, more than I thought I was even  _ capable _ of lovin' another person. I watched those pricks take you away from me twice, Daryl _ , twice! _ I never thought I was gonna see you again. Never thought…"

I sigh heavily, evidence of my hurt and frustration slipping silently down my cheeks. He's silent, staring straight ahead, avoiding my gaze. Why can't he see? How is there even a fucking doubt in his mind? I didn't stay here for the damn scenery. I didn't even stay for him, not entirely. I stayed because I'm  _ selfish, _ because he's the person in this world I fear losing the very most. I watched my  _ family _ walk away, not knowing if I'll see them alive again, I  _ chose  _ him because I couldn't bear the thought of... 

Christ, I'm fucking delusional. He doesn't want me here. After everything we've been through. He doesn't… he doesn't love me.

"What the hell are we doin'?" I question softly, willing him to look at me, to take my hand in his, anything to convince me I didn't just make us up.

But he doesn't. He doesn't move, he doesn't speak, and my heart shatters.

"Okay," I nod, trying like hell not to let him see me tremble.

Like it matters. He's not looking at me, anyway. I get to my feet and walk away. I'll leave in the morning.

*Daryl's POV*

I just let her walk away. All this time, turns out Merle had one thing right. I'm about as stupid as they come. She thinks I don't want her here, but that ain't true. I dunno why I asked her any of that shit, I just needed to hear her say it again.

I want to tell her, I just don't know how. I want to chase her down, pull her into me and just forget… forget about being afraid, forget about the fucking Saviors, the war, walkers, forget about everything but her skin on my skin and the way she sounds when she whispers secrets to me in the night, the way she trembles when I brush my lips against  _ that _ spot on her neck.

I don't know how to tell her that she's the best thing that's ever happened to me, that she's in all my favorite memories, literally every fucking one, that everything beautiful reminds me of her. That I'd do anything she asked me to, that I wish her last name matched mine, that she's my  _ reason. _ I know the words. Why can't I just fucking  _ tell her? _ Before it's too late.

I'm pulled abruptly from my thoughts when a couple trucks pull up a few yards from where I'm pacing. Ezekiel, Richard, Jerry, Benjamin, Morgan, and a couple others I don't recognize exit the vehicles. Morgan don't have his stick. I have a feeling they ain't just coming back from a casual drive. Morgan and the kid linger near the trucks, talking about whatever. I don't care. I need to know where the hell they were.

"Hey," I call out, approaching them. "Where'd you go in them trucks?"

"I need to speak to Daryl alone," Morgan tells the boy. "That okay?"

"Yeah, I'll get you somethin' for that cut," Benjamin says, turning away and, after eyeing me suspiciously, wandering off as Morgan strides towards me.

"You went to see them, right?" I demand.

"Yeah," Morgan confirms, absolutely no hesitation.

"Part of your deal?" I ask him, and this time he just looks away, lips suddenly zipped tight. "What the hell's wrong with you? You're bleedin'. They did that to you. You know what they are."

"I do," he nods, and his nonchalance pisses me the hell off. 

"You know," I regard him cooly. "If Carol were here, she saw all that… if she knew about Abraham, and Glenn… she'd be leadin' us right to 'em, ready to kill 'em all."

"She would," Morgan agrees. "And that's why she left, man."

Well. Ain't that a fuckin' kick to the nuts? Hell's he know about Carol, anyway? I scoff, turning away from him. If Carol knew she'd come back. Things have changed. I wander aimlessly, not sure where the hell I'm going but unable to just sit still. I stop short when I see a certain redhead in the distance, near the archery setup.

She's with Richard, who appears to be showing her how to use a compound bow. I watch for a moment. They both suck, but he's at least hitting his target. I watch her eyes narrow in frustration as the arrow she's just fired sails over her target and ricochets off the brick wall of the building behind the practice area. I can't help but chuckle to myself. Looking back, this might be the first time I've seen her truly bad at anything. Well… she ain't a great cook, neither, but Carol says it's 'cause she don't think she can do it so she don't try.

They spot me at the same time, Richard nodding a hello in my direction. Adie eyes me sharply, then drops her gaze to the ground.

"You know, I think I've caused enough damage here for one day," she says ruefully, laying her bow on the wooden table beside the targets.

"I disagree," Richard tells her, the first hint of anything resembling a smile crossing his face for the first time since we'd met the guy. "To cause any damage at all, you would have actually had to hit the target, Miss Blake."

Shame colors my ears. Miss Blake. So they've had some time to chat, then. He knows I just let him think she was mine earlier. Something claws at my insides, the same feral beast that had shredded my guts when I'd seen Adie on Negan's arm back home. Jealousy. I glare at the ground.

"Hilarious, Richard," she spits, sarcasm dripping from her voice. "Let me know when you hit anything closer than that outer ring, huh?"

With that, she's gone, stalking off fuck knows where. Away from me. And again, I just watch her leave like a goddamn idiot. Richard watches her for a moment, then turns back to his bow.

"I'm practicing," he informs me, like I've suddenly gone blind and can't see what the fuck he's doing. "Gonna have to start using these more. The Saviors are smart enough to know I shouldn't have a gun around them."

He releases another arrow, this time hitting the ring just outside the bullseye. Probably good Adie wasn't here for that. She'd've been pissed.

"Morgan said you're a bowman," Richard announces, turning and lifting a crossbow from the table beside him, thrusting it towards me.

I regard him suspiciously for a beat or two. The hell's this guy handing out weapons for?

"Why?" I demand, taking the crossbow from him.

"'Cause we want the same things," he says simply. "I need your help."

*Adrienne's POV*

Turns out, I can't hit the broad side of a barn when armed with a bow. Well. Maybe I could, accidently. I did hit a brick wall a few times. It shouldn't piss me off this much, but it does. I'm good with a gun, put a knife in my hands and I can do some real damage, I can take armed men down without breaking a fucking sweat, but a bow? Of course not. And, of course, Daryl's there to witness my brilliant fucking failure. I kick the ground, stomping around the woods just outside the Kingdom's walls.

I don't have any destination in particular, it's too late in the day to start home on foot. I'm just getting away from Daryl. I'm tired of dancing around each other. I don't know what the hell he wants. I thought… I don't know. I thought he was mine and I was his and it was that simple. Nothing's ever that simple, I guess. Maybe I made the whole thing up. Maybe I came on too strong and, Daryl being Daryl, he didn't know how to say no and it just got out of hand.

Maybe I'm just that desperate, maybe I fell in love with him trying to make my life mean  _ something. _ Trying to make sticking around through this shit worth it. Maybe I misread him entirely. He's never said how he feels one way or the other. It's not like it's the first time I convinced myself a man had feelings for me just because we slept together, is it? No. Still, it's never hurt quite this much. No one ever meant anything to me, not like Daryl does.

I'm so caught up in my thoughts, I almost don't hear the walker until it's too late. Almost. I whirl around and plunge my blade into its skull, cold, congealed blood running down my hand and soaking into the cuff of my shirt. I wipe my blade on my jeans and slide it back into the sheath hanging from my belt. Then it occurs to me. Taking that walker out took all of five seconds, but it was five seconds spent not thinking about Daryl. It's not like I have anything better to do.

*Daryl's POV*

Turns out, Richard's already got a plan. Something to  _ 'move Ezekiel', _ he'd said. He's been real cryptic about the whole thing, but Rick asked me to try. To try and get to Ezekiel. So I'm gonna let this play out. We're walking along a deserted bit of road not too far from The Kingdom.

"They ride this road," Richard announces, the two of us taking cover behind the back end of an eighteen wheeler that appears to have jackknifed, cab jutting into the road, trailer having settled on the embankment to rust. "If we see cars, it's the Saviors. They've been coming in packs of two or three lately. That's why I need you. I can't take 'em alone. I was going to ask Miss Blake along, but her aim is abysmal. I'm not about to put a gun in her hands."

"She's a good shot," I tell him, bristling. "Jus' ain't trained with a bow."

"I'll take your word for it," he replies dismissively, opening his pack. "We're gonna hit 'em with the guns first, and then the Molotovs. Then back to the guns until they're dead."

"Why the fire?"

"Needs to look bad," he explains. "The Saviors who discover what's left… we want them to be angry. I left a trail from here to the weapons cache I planted, to the cabin of someone Ezekiel cares about."

"Who's that?" I question, my gut suddenly rolling.

"It's just some loner he met," he tells me evasively. "Sometimes he brings food."

"Why don't they live in The Kingdom?"

"I don't know," Richard insists. "She lives out there, she'll die out there."

She. Some loner, met Ezekiel but she don't stay at The Kingdom…

"It's a woman?" I question, eyeing him.

"What's that matter?" He counters. "She's got more balls than you and me."

Carol. She's one of the ballsiest women I know.

"She's gonna die either way," he continues, trying to justify himself. "When the Saviors come and find their buddies dead, if they know their elbow from their asshole and can follow an obvious spoor, they're gonna go to the weapons cache and then to the cabin, and they're gonna attack this woman."

"What's her name?" I demand quietly.

"Maybe they kill her, maybe they don't, but it's gonna show Ezekiel what he needs to do," he says, either oblivious to or ignoring my question.

"Her name," I repeat firmly. "What is it?"

"She's tough," he presses, and now I'm sure he's avoiding the question. "Maybe she'll live."

"Say her damn name!" I snap.

He sighs, dropping his gaze to the ground, and I know. I know before he even says it.

"Carol," he admits. "I hoped you didn't know her, but I didn't think you'd care, 'cause you know what needs to happen."

Didn't think I'd care? Why the fuck… guess he ain't the only one who thinks I don't give a shit about nothin'. Adrienne… this jackass is damn lucky she ain't with us. It's taking all I have in me not to knock him on his ass, I think Adie would've done it already. She's impulsive. One of the other ballsiest women I know.

"No," I tell him flatly, barrelling past him to head back to this weapons cache, try to find Carol's cabin.

"Maybe she'll live!" He cries. "Look, this… this is how, this is how this could happen. This is how we can get rid of the Saviors, how we  _ all  _ can have a future. She's living out there on her own, just waiting to die."

"No!" I repeat, blood boiling.

"If we don't do anything, a hell of a lot more people are gonna die, people who wanna live!" He snaps.

"You stay the hell away from Carol, you hear me?" I snarl, but he ain't listening.

Car. There's a car coming and he's gonna do some stupid shit, gonna gamble with Carol's life to further his own cause.

"It's them," he breathes. "Look, we can wait for things to go bad, and lose people… or we can do the hard thing and choose our fate for ourselves."

The hard thing. This ain't the hard thing. This is the easy way. Fucking prick.

"No," I tell him, hoping he ain't dumb enough to try something while I'm standing here next to him.

He is.

"Sorry," he says, raising his gun and moving around the back of the truck.

I lunge for him, knocking him to the ground. I ain't gonna kill him. I want to. But I ain't gonna do it. Ain't like I can convince Ezekiel to help us after killing one of his men. I've got an arm across Richard's chest, holding him down, but he's still struggling, reaching for his gun. I hit him hard, hard as I can, right in the face. Once, twice, three, four times. Then the fucker lifts something from the ground, it happens too fast for the object to register, and slams it into the side of my head. Fuck it. I let him scramble away.

I snatch the crossbow from the grass and by the time he's up and armed, I've got a bolt aimed at his head. We're deadlocked, both aiming our weapons at the other. I don't care. I'll kill him, even if taking the shot means we both die here. He ain't getting Carol killed.

"There'll be more," he points out breathlessly, the car having passed us by during the struggle. "Or those… they're gonna ride back this way later. We'll have another chance. But we're running outta time. If you and your people wanna move against the Saviors… you need to do it soon and you need the Kingdom. What we have to do requires sacrifice one way or another. Guys like us… we've already lost so much."

"You don't know me," I growl.

"I  _ know… _ that Carol, living on her own like that… she might as well be dead right now."

"She gets hurt, she dies, if she catches a fever, if she's taken out by a walker, she gets  _ hit by lightnin'... _ " I list, lowering the crossbow. "Anything… anything happens to her, I'll kill you."

"I would die for the Kingdom," he says sadly, lowering his gun.

"Why don't you?" I demand, snatching my pack and the other gun from where they're leaned up against the truck.

He don't answer. He can't. He knows he's wrong. I leave him to contemplate his own fucking misery, tracing our steps back to the small trailer he'd been using as a weapons cache. Sure enough, he'd laid a trail for the Saviors. Carol thinks she don't wanna be found, but if she knew… if she knew, she'd  _ be here. _

I'm following the trail Richard had planted, sabotaging the spoor as I go, when I hear them. Walkers. Has to be at least five, maybe more. Used to be the woods were the only place I could go when I needed quiet, wanted to be alone. Get away from my mother's drunken tears, my ol' man's screaming. Not anymore. I step into a small clearing, following the echoing snarls.

Jesus Christ. At the center of the clearing is Adie, covered in blood, knife flashing in the late afternoon sun, those scarlet curls flying behind her while she ducks, twists, and lunges at the walkers surrounding her. There are half a dozen bodies at her feet, five undead corpses making desperate attempts to sink their teeth into her flesh. I lift the crossbow and fire into one of them, reloading and firing into a second the moment the first one falls.

She looks up, startled, alarm quickly morphing into something resembling annoyance once she realizes it's just me. Tough shit. I reload, but by the time I'm ready to fire another bolt, she's already taken care of the last walker. That's nine. She took out nine walkers on her own, armed with nothing but a knife. Breathing heavily, she bends over the two I'd managed to dispatch, violently yanking the bolts from their skulls.

"Hell you out here alone for?" I demand as she approaches me, wiping the arrows on her blood spattered shirt.

She glares at me, silent, thrusting the bolts into my hands before turning on her heel and marching away.

"Adie!" I snap.

"You my keeper now?" She snarls, already disappearing into the trees.

The words are like a punch to the gut. If she'd died that night, or any of the nights I was at Negan's compound… those would've been the last words I said to her. And it was a damn lie, too. Call me whipped, I don't give a shit, being kept ain't a bad thing. She keeps me sane, keeps me grounded. I ain't never gonna say nothin' like that to her ever again.

I follow her, but before I can speak, she catches sight of something through the thinning trees ahead and freezes. Then I see it, too. Ezekiel and a few of his men, standing on the lawn in front of a small cabin. I catch just a glimpse as she slams the door closed, but it's her.


	89. Just One More Night to Pretend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains smut, so if that's not your thing proceed with caution, my sweet summer child

**Chapter 89**

*Adrienne's POV*

I turn to Daryl, forgetting my anger for a moment. His eyes meet mine and I know he saw it, too. I'd only seen her for a split second before the door closed, but I'd know her anywhere. Ezekiel, Jerry, and a few others from the Kingdom are making their way off her lawn, away from a small cabin she's evidently been holed up in.

The moment Ezekiel and his men have dispersed, Daryl's practically sprinting towards the cabin. I'm right on his heels and we ascend the porch steps together. He looks at me questioningly, hesitantly, fist raised in front of the door. I nod and he knocks softly, the two of us stepping back to wait for the door to open. The few moments it takes feel like eternity, but she answers. She's here.

She glances from me to Daryl and back several times, stunned and blinking back tears. I wrap my arms around myself protectively, suddenly terrified she's gonna slam that door, retreat into her place away from all of us. I'm both enraged and elated. She's here. She left us. She didn't  _ want _ us. But she's  _ here. _ She steps onto the porch and pulls Daryl into a hug, and he lets her. I drop my gaze to the ground, toeing the floorboards, feeling as though I'm intruding upon something intensely private.

"Okay," Daryl breathes huskily, trying and failing not to let his own tears escape as he pulls away from her. "Jesus took us to the Kingdom. Morgan said you just left. I, we… we were out here. Saw you… why'd you go?"

His voice breaks, his emotions getting the best of him.

"I had to," Carol whispers, tears sliding silently down her cheeks.

Daryl steps aside and she reaches for me, pulling me into her arms. All the anger, the hurt, the betrayal… it dissolves, liquefies, comes pouring out. I sob into her shoulder, letting her stroke my hair while I return her embrace, truly grateful to see her again despite myself.

She leads us into the house and sets about immediately assembling ingredients for some kind of soup. Daryl starts a cooking fire in her fireplace while I wander her living room and light candles as the sun sets. No one speaks for a bit, the three of us falling into the routine with ease in spite of the heavy, loaded silence. Then I notice Daryl's head.

"What the hell happened to you?" I blurt, eyeing the bloody wound on Daryl's temple.

He averts his eyes, refusing to answer. Carol supplies me with an assortment of first aid items -gauze, alcohol wipes, a wash rag, a bowl of water- and continues puttering about her kitchen, throwing things into a pot, while I sit Daryl down at her dining table and clean him up. I might be pissed at him, but I'll be damned if he's gonna get an infection. I wet one corner of the rag, wringing it out over the bowl before gently scrubbing the dried blood from his skin.

I flip the rag around, dabbing away excess water with the clean end before tearing open a foil packet, unfolding the alcohol wipe within and sweeping it over the mercifully shallow cut. He catches my eyes, holding my gaze for several quiet moments before I look away, patting his wound dry with a gauze pad. Once I'm satisfied he's gonna be okay, I head into Carol's kitchen and collect three bowls and spoons from her cupboard, returning to set the table.

"I couldn't lose anyone," Carol murmurs, kneeling beside the fire, staring into the flames that are now licking the sides of the stainless steel pot. "I couldn't lose any of them. I couldn't lose  _ you. _ "

She turns her head, teary eyes flickering back and forth between me and Daryl as I lower myself onto one of her kitchen chairs.

"I couldn't kill them," she says heavily, and suddenly she looks decades older. "I  _ could… _ I would. If they hurt any of our people, any more of them, that's what I would do."

She turns her attention back to the fire. Shit… we have to tell her. She doesn't know about Glenn or Abraham or Spencer, Olivia, what they did to Daryl… she has no idea.

"And there wouldn't be anything left of me after that," she continues tearily, voice soft and strained. "The Saviors, did they come?"

"Yeah," Daryl says quietly, and when he doesn't elaborate she whips her head back to look at us again.

She rocks forward on her knees, tears beginning to overflow. She looks so damn vulnerable… more fragile than I've ever seen her look before, even when Ed was alive. This is gonna shatter her. My heart suddenly feels like it weighs ten tons, sinking down in my chest.

"Did anyone get hurt?" She questions, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. "Is everybody okay? Did the Saviors…"

She can't finish, clapping a hand over her mouth as she braces herself for the worst, consumed with guilt and worry. Daryl and I are both silent, and I know he's trying to figure out how to tell her. Maybe debating whether or not we even should tell her, but we have to. We can't lie. She collects herself somewhat, just enough to regain the ability to speak.

"Is everybody back home okay?" She asks, eyeing us imploringly.

Fuck. I don't want to be the one to tell her, but I can't make Daryl do it. He'll feel like her pain is his fault, and I know he still blames himself for Glenn.

"Daryl," she pleads, her own thoughts filling the silence with unspoken horrors, terrified. "Adrienne."

"They came," Daryl tells her before I can open my mouth to speak. "We got 'em all. Made a deal with the rest of 'em, like Ezekiel."

We… what? My gaze flickers from Daryl to Carol. He's trying to spare her feelings, she looks like she could break so easily, but… but I don't wanna lie to her. It feels  _ wrong. _ She collapses into a relieved sob and Daryl catches my indignant gaze, shaking his head almost imperceptibly.

"Everyone's all right," he soothes, turning his eyes back to Carol. "Everyone's all right."

She beams up at him and I don't have the heart to break it to her. To tell her  _ four _ of our people are gone, erased. But it's killing me inside. Surely the painful truth is better than letting her live in ignorance, right? I'd want to know.

"We gon' eat, or… or do you gotta be a king or somethin' to get some food around here?" Daryl quips uncertainly, attempting to lighten the mood.

"Shut up," Carol chuckles, wiping away her tears and pulling the pot from the fire, joining us at the table and serving us each a large portion of whatever the hell magic she'd managed to cook up.

"Ezekiel…" Daryl murmurs, his fingers fidgeting. "Is he okay?"

"Yeah, I think he is," Carol says happily.

Daryl seems satisfied with that. He trusts her. I do, too. Ezekiel doesn't strike me as a bad guy. Eccentric, absolutely, but he's not a bad guy. He's just trying to look out for his people, same as us. We eat in silence, Daryl occasionally casting wary glances in my direction. Probably afraid I'm gonna crack, tell Carol what really happened. I won't. But only because I think at this point it needs to be him. I don't wanna throw him under the bus.

I don't know how Carol does it. As far as I can tell, the bulk of this soup is just rice, beans, and tomato juice, but it tastes gourmet. I swear to god, it's sorcery. Witchcraft. Whatever, I'm not complaining. I wolf it down before even Daryl is finished. Now that my mouth is no longer occupied, though, I'm becoming quite antsy. The longer we sit here, with each grin and laugh from Carol… it's harder and harder not to tell her.

*Daryl's POV*

I can't stand the looks Adie's giving me. They're not accusatory, not really, but I know she thinks I should've told Carol the truth. I probably should've, and I was gonna, but I couldn't. It'd break her. If we don't tell her, she can stay out here and not have to kill anybody. I ain't gonna let her keep doing shit that destroys her. I can't.

She's glancing quizzically between Adie and me, brows furrowing. Adie don't seem to notice, now concentrating on damn near inhaling her meal, bowl and all. Ain't sure if she's just that hungry or if she's trying to keep her mouth shut. Probably a little of both. Once Carol and I are finished, Adie insists on taking the dishes, washing up in the kitchen.

"What's wrong?" Carol demands softly the moment the water starts running in the other room.

"Nothin'," I shrug.

Another lie.

"Bullshit," she murmurs. "Don't give me that, I know you. I know Adie. I've been watching the two of you dance around each other since Atlanta. So what's wrong?"

"She thinks I don't care," I blurt, reddening instantly.

"Have you told her?" She questions, eyes boring into the side of my head.

I just shrug. Carol knows, though. She sighs quietly, but it ain't judgement. She ain't that way. Maybe that's why I don't feel so uncomfortable around her.

"You need to," she murmurs as the water shuts off and Adie walks back into view, drying her hands on her jeans.

I know I do. Knowing it ain't the problem. It's the execution I'm having trouble with. It's dark out now and Adie and I need to get back. Carol ushers us out the door, and for a moment I think Adie might refuse to go. She's got Carol in a vice grip, crying and whispering something I can't hear into her neck. But she lets go. She knows she has to.

She tromps heavily down the steps, wiping her tears away. I follow her, and we're about halfway across the yard when I turn back. Carol. She's my best friend. I sprint back up the steps and pull her into a hug.

"Watch out for yourself, all right?" I murmur, pulling away.

She nods and that has to be good enough. This might be the last time I see her, but at least this time I got to say goodbye. I fall into step behind Adie and we start the short trek back to the Kingdom together. It's silent the whole way, the kind of quiet that feels like you're locked inside a pressure cooker. Like at any moment your whole damn world could be blown to smithereens.

When we reach the Kingdom, we go our separate ways. Part of me desperately wants to follow her, but part of me just… I need to be alone. Process. She ain't goin' nowhere. I need some time to think, figure shit out before I try to talk to her. I head into what used to be a locker room before but now serves as the tiger's living quarters, taking a seat beside the iron cage Ezekiel keeps her in when he ain't around.

Shiva. Her name is Shiva. She reminds me of the stray tabby cat I used to think of as mine when I was a kid. She used to hang around our porch. I left food out for her a few times, hoping she'd keep coming by. I named her Pumpkin, 'cause I was 7 and she was orange. Never said the name out loud, though. Merle would've given me endless shit for that. Called me a pussy. Darylina. My ol' man found out about the cat one day, figured out I'd been feeding her. Got me a hell of a beating that night, found her shot in the yard the next day. Ain't never kept a pet since.

"Well, you're good with her," Morgan says softly, stepping from the shadows.

He's been here a few minutes. I heard him before he came in, but I didn't give a shit. Figured he'd either say his piece or leave and it didn't matter to me either way.

"Ezekiel will be impressed," he continues, apparently not ready to get to his actual point yet.

"Well, figure any guy that has a pet tiger can't be that bad," I mutter. "He's okay by Carol."

I glance up at him, watching the surprise register on his face.

"Yeah, I found her," I nod. "Out in that little house."

"Look, what I said…" he starts, inching closer. "When I said she just… went away. It's what she told me to do."

"No, I get it," I assure him, and I do, but still... "We need the Kingdom. You gotta make that happen."

"I'm sorry," he says, averting his eyes and shaking his head. "I mean I, I really am, but, uh… it can't be me."

"Look," I sigh heavily, getting to my feet. "Whatever it is you're holdin' on to… it's already gone, man. Wake the hell up."

He's quiet while I gather my shit. My pack, the crossbow that ain't mine.

"You're the same as me, Daryl," he says eventually.

"You don't know shit about me," I growl.

"No, I do," he insists. "'Cause you didn't tell Carol what happened. You didn't, 'cause she'd be here otherwise. And I'm glad for that. See, we're all holdin' onto somethin'."

Before I can react to that, Shiva lets out a low growl, rising and bumping her head softly against the bars of her cage. I offer my hand to her, tentatively. She bumps it, nuzzling into my palm. A cat's a cat, even a big one.

"I'm goin' back to Hilltop in the mornin' and gettin' ready," I announce, shoving past him on my way out of the room.

I make my way to the building that's been converted into something resembling a college dormitory, beelining straight for the door of the room we'd all stayed in last night. Morgan's right. We're all holding onto something. I'm holding onto some of the wrong things, letting go of others. I steel myself, trying to get a handle on my nerves. I'm terrified. Why? It's  _ Adrienne. _ She loves me, I  _ know _ she does, and if she'll give me the chance, I'm gonna prove… I'm gonna prove that I love her, too. I'm ready. I can't lose her. I ain't letting this girl go. I turn the knob.

The door's locked.

*Adrienne's POV*

I have no idea where the hell Daryl went when we got back from Carol's. I wanted to follow him, but I didn't. I'm not gonna force my company on him anymore, no matter how bad it fucking hurts to walk away. You can't make the person you love love you back. That's one thing from before that's still true. At least I think it is. I don't know, I never loved anyone before. Not like now.

I'm pulled from my thoughts when someone jiggles the handle on my door, the noise jarring right beside my ear. I don't want company, so I'd locked it before sliding down to the floor in front of it, resuming the same position I'd held the evening prior. I hold my breath, remaining silent in hopes the unwanted visitor will just go away. It's quiet for a moment, and I think maybe the coast is clear. Then, three tentative knocks.

Shit. I sigh heavily, getting to my feet and cracking the door open. Daryl. I'd assumed he'd stay in one of the other rooms we'd been allotted last night. I hesitate, but pull the door wide after a beat or two. He strides into the room without a word, and I can feel the anxiety rolling off of him, instantly setting my teeth on edge. I push the door shut, locking it once more before turning to face him. He's watching me from where he stands at the window, chewing his lip furiously, white knuckling the crossbow in his hand.

"What's wrong?" I question, gently taking the crossbow from him, leaning it against the wall beside the window.

He let me take the weapon, but he's not speaking. Not looking at me, still gnawing at that damn lip of his. Clearly he's worried about something, worried enough to come to me. Then again, who the fuck else would he go to? Morgan? Yeah, they're friends, but they don't see eye to eye on a lot of things, especially given Morgan's refusal to help us get Ezekiel on our side. He didn't come to me because he wanted to, he came to me because I'm his only option. That… fucking sucks.

"Daryl?" I prompt. "Did… did somethin' happen? Are you okay?"

"No," he blurts, finally raising his eyes from the floor to meet mine.

"Well, what's wro-"

I'm cut off rather abruptly when he lurches forward, dropping his pack on the floor beside the crossbow. His hands cup my face and his lips are on mine, urgent and desperate. For a few blissful seconds, I melt into his kiss, lose myself in him like I always do. It feels so damn right, like I was  _ made _ to fit perfectly into his arms.

Then the doubt creeps in, the uncertainty eating away at the back of my mind. Why is he here? What the hell are we doing? Is… is he doing this because he's feeling guilty? Or maybe because I'm the only person he's got left right now? Then his tongue runs along my bottom lip and I decide I don't fucking care.

I know it's gonna hurt, it's gonna hurt  _ so bad _ when he leaves again. But he's all I want and he's here now… I'll let him burn me from the inside out, leaving nothing more than the blackened cinders of my skeleton in his wake, if it means being able to make believe for one more night that he loves me, just one more night to pretend I know what it feels like to be loved.

*Daryl's POV*

I ain't sure what the hell came over me, but I need to touch her, all of her, I need her right now. I can't do this gentle, the need to  _ prove  _ it to her driving me fucking insane. She makes me crazy, and before I know what I'm even doing, I'm tearing at her jeans, yanking them down her legs while she kicks off her boots, and it ain't graceful at all, and she might have fallen if I could find it in me to put my hands anywhere but on her body, so she don't 'cause I'm holding her up.

"Adie," I pant, letting my head fall backward as she kisses and nips at the skin on my neck, her fingers fumbling with the buttons on my shirt.

She's tearing at my jacket, yanking it down my arms and tossing it, shirt and all, to the floor. I toss her onto the bed, sinking to my knees at the foot, and pull her by the hips towards me. Jesus Christ, she's tall and her legs are so impossibly fucking long. I run my hands down those legs, marveling at how fucking smooth her skin is, leaning in to kiss her inner thigh.

She's whimpering, arching already, like maybe I drive her insane, too, and I can't believe she's letting me do this, I can't figure out why the most incredible, beautiful woman on the goddamn planet lets me touch her this way, and the voice in my head telling me I shouldn't shuts up when I graze my teeth up her thigh and bite down on the place her leg meets her center and the fucking  _ sound  _ she makes drowns out anything else.

She's not wearing panties and I don't know why that's so fucking hot, but it is, and panties would just be in the way. I toss her legs over my shoulders, gripping her thighs and pulling her closer, closer, and then I can taste her, and her heels are digging into my back and her hands are tugging at my hair and my name is falling from her lips while she trembles and quakes beneath me and there's nowhere else,  _ nowhere _ else I wanna be ever.

"Daryl, please…"

She's pulling at me, desperately grasping for my hands, pulling me up to her, and she's kissing me, licking at the wetness on my lips, my chin, and she's fumbling with my belt, yanking my pants down, and she's guiding me into her and holy  _ fuck… _

"Adie," I rasp. "Fuck…"

I drive into her and she's grinding up against me, rolling her hips with every thrust, and somehow the fact that she's still wearing a shirt is so fucking hot, and I'm right there but I ain't ready, I ain't ready for this to stop, not yet. I pull out of her and she makes this indignant noise and it's cute, and  _ cute _ ain't a word that belongs anywhere near this situation, but it's so fucking cute.

I crawl into bed with her, unbuttoning her shirt from the bottom up. She shrugs out of it and I ain't sure it even makes it to the floor before I'm kissing her again, kissing that spot on her neck I know makes her crazy, kissing my way down her sternum and back up again, and she's unhooking her bra and flinging that aside, too, and I can see every perfect inch of her skin.

"Beautiful," I murmur, and she blushes like she always does 'cause she don't believe it, but I'm gonna make her one day.

She reaches down between our bodies, running a fingertip along the underside of my cock and she's got that look in her eyes like I better keep going, so I thrust back into her and my name is echoing around the room, frantically tumbling from her lips while she arches and writhes and comes undone beneath me, and I'm sure the whole fucking kingdom knows what I'm doing to her, what she  _ wants _ me to do to her, and I  _ like _ it 'cause she picked me, she stayed for me, this girl loves  _ me _ and I want them to know it.

"Come for me," she pants, dragging her fingernails down my back. "Please…  _ fuck, _ come for me, Daryl…"

It's like the invisible string tied around my spine is suddenly pulled too tight, and I ain't sure what the hell I'm saying besides her name, and maybe I ain't saying nothin' but her name 'cause it's the only word I care about anymore, and I'm emptying myself inside her and she's clenching tight around me, draining me, and I swear to god this is what heaven feels like and if I died right here I don't think I'd mind 'cause this would be one hell of a way to go.

*Adrienne's POV*

It hurts already and he's not even gone yet. He's lying above me, his face buried in my neck, his lips pressing breathless, featherlight kisses to the hollow of my throat. There was something different about this time, something less reserved, less tentative. Less careful, almost frantic in the way he'd touched me. I should be feeling euphoric, but I can't shake the feeling that this is goodbye. The last time he'll ever be mine this way.

I trail my fingers along his back, over his shoulders, his neck, weaving them through his damp hair and pressing my lips to the top of his head. I can feel his pulse against my skin, his heart thrumming in his chest a million miles a minute. It feels like too much, all of it, all of him surrounding me, the way I feel  _ about _ him... it's too much and still not enough, will never be enough. If I died here, right now, if I could convince myself what we just did together fucking  _ meant  _ something to him… I think I would die happy.

Because it meant something to me.

It's too much… tears roll silently down my face, trickling back behind my ears and into my hair. He lifts his head, his eyes boring into mine. It's the same way he's looked at me so many times before, but somehow different in a way I can't quite put my finger on. Looking at him looking at me this way… I can almost convince myself. And I  _ want _ to believe it.

I can't tear my eyes from his, even knowing how pathetic I must look, tears still flowing. He stares at me what feels like forever, his own eyes welling with unshed emotion.

"Adrienne…" he breathes, voice hoarse and strained, gently wiping away the evidence of my devastation with his thumb. "I love you."

Did he… he just… did he just say… no.. I made it up. I'm dreaming, I must be. But… but I  _ heard _ it. I heard him say it, watched his lips tremble as the words escaped his mouth, his tumbling breath close enough to flutter across my lips. I'm watching him, wide eyed and dumbstruck, as his brows furrow, frustration clouding his shadowy features.

"I'm sorry…" he swallows, his breath hitching in his chest, and only then does it occur to me how  _ terrified _ he is, how hard this is for him. "Should've said it a long time ago, soon as I knew."

He's… oh, my god.

I'm a fucking idiot. Suddenly everything clicks, snapping into place like that last piece of a jigsaw. It all makes so much sense. He's afraid, but he loves me. Daryl fucking Dixon loves  _ me. _ I want to sing or cry or laugh or scream or maybe all of those until my lungs burst.  _ He loves me. _ We're both so damn stubborn. I'm his and he's mine and it really is that simple. It's that simple and all this time… why the hell didn't he tell me sooner? I pull his face down to mine, softly pressing my lips against his, in awe at the way he doesn't resist, the way his mouth moves with mine without hesitation. I drag my lips from his, nuzzling his neck.

"I love you, too," I whisper, resisting the urge to add  _ 'duh', _ sure my heart's gonna explode from fullness.

He's mine. I'm his. And it really is that simple.


	90. One of the Good Things

**Chapter 90**

*Daryl's POV*

"Spotted you more than a mile away."

"Hello, Kal," Adrienne snaps, exhausted from our long, hot trek to Hilltop.

We'd left the Kingdom first thing this morning. We'd found a car, but we ran outta fuel with several miles still between us and Hilltop. We'd walked the rest of the way. I told her last night. And it ain't weird, things are… better. I know where she stands. I knew before, I know I did, but now I'm sure. And she knows where I stand. She's mine. And I don't appreciate the way Kal's looking at her from up there on the watch post with his stupid fuckin' eyes.

"The hair," Kal grins, looking Adie up and down. "Dead giveaway, we knew you were comin'."

"No shit?" She questions, eyes wide in mock astonishment. "You mean you were doin' your  _ job? _ You want a party?"

Poor bastard. Adie takes my hand in hers, leading me towards Maggie and Jesus, and Cal's eyes drop to our entwined fingers. Used to bother me, being touched in front of other people. Hell, being touched at all. This time… I can't help but feel a little smug. It actually feels good, other people seeing us. She's mine and she don't seem to care who sees it. She ain't ashamed of me, and I don't have to feel guilty for it.

"You're here," Maggie grins, pulling Adie into a hug.

"We're here," Adie chuckles.

"Daryl," Jesus greets warmly. "Adie. Not that you're not welcome, but... what are you doing here?"

"Ezekiel… he ain't gon' change his mind," I tell him. "We need to get ready."

"Daryl's a fugitive," Adie quips, but there's worry in her eyes. "Can't take him home, not yet. And for all we know, Rick's told the Saviors I'm dead. So, here we are. I did promise Jeffrey I'd help train up the farmers."

"Adie!" Maggie warns, chuckling despite herself.

"Oh, don't defend him, Natalie," Adie teases lightly before turning serious. "Where's Sasha? We got us a platoon to assemble."

*Adrienne's POV*

They might be but humble farmers, and Gregory may have little to no faith in them, but they learn quick. That's what happens when you have something worth fighting for, something worth protecting. They've got stamina, too. A whole group trained with me and Sasha most of the afternoon, not a single complaint from any of 'em. If Gregory had any idea what his people are capable of, maybe he wouldn't be so damn scared of the Saviors.

"Miss Adrienne?" Bertie questions breathlessly.

"You can just call me Adie," I assure her, and she beams.

"Adie. Sasha and Jesus, they told me you can show us how to incapacitate an armed man," she says hopefully. "Without your own weapon. I was hopin', we were hopin' you could show us."

We're finished training for the day, the group disbanding to go have dinner with their families as the sun sinks lower and lower in the sky. At least, they  _ were.  _ Oh, hell. Most, if not all, of the training group have stopped in their tracks, eyeing me curiously. I hate being watched like this, like I'm some kind of parlor trick. Deanna made me do the same thing back home, back when she didn't know what the hell to do with me.

"They did, huh?" I stall, glancing between Sasha and Jesus who are both suddenly very focused on anything other than my gaze. "Jesus!"

"Yes?" He questions innocently, eyeing me.

"C'mere," I smile sweetly, crooking my index finger. "Let me beat you up. The people demand...  _ sacrifice. _ "

"You are so dramatic," Jesus rolls his eyes, then saunters several paces away.

He turns to face me, knife at the ready. I'm distracted momentarily when something moves in my periphery. Daryl, casually strolling over here to watch.

"Hold this, please," I tell him, placing my knife in his already outstretched hand.

I resume my position across from Jesus, grinning in spite of myself. This isn't supposed to be fun. It's not a game, not when you're out there, when you're actually in danger, but in here… even I can't deny, it's fun as hell.

"All right," I square my shoulders, eyeing the crowd surrounding us. "You need to watch yourselves, that knife is gonna fly, so pay attention and if it flies  _ at  _ you… duck."

There's a small chorus of general assent and I turn my attention back to Jesus.

"Come at me."

He doesn't need to be told twice, lunging for me immediately. I place my right hand around his wrist, smacking the knife from his grip with my left. The blade arcs through the air, landing with a weak thud in front of Enid, who grins and retrieves it. But Jesus isn't gonna make this easy for me. He lunges again, just like I'd anticipated he would.

I place my hand on his left shoulder, gripping him hard as I step behind his right side. Using my legs and back as leverage, I kick his legs from beneath him, flipping him onto my back. Then I twist and let him fall. He rolls over onto his back, intending to spring right back up and try again, but I'm too fast for him. I drop to my knees, holding his hands above his head, my elbow resting just over his throat. He giggles happily, his shoulders shaking with mirth.

"You  _ go  _ girl," he snarks joyously with an exaggerated wink.

"Shut up," I chuckle, then address the shocked crowd. "Now, once you've got your assailant in this  _ highly vulnerable position… _ "

I trail off, slightly increasing the pressure on Jesus' jugular for emphasis.

"You're gonna use all your weight, drop that elbow right onto the neck," I continue. "If you're able, you can go for the eyes, but you gotta be quick. Neck and eyes are your best bet if you don't have another weapon."

With that, I roll off of Jesus. I get to my feet and offer him my hand, pulling him up from the ground.

"Have I mentioned how much you terrify me?" He questions, taking his knife from Enid with a chuckle.

"Not today," I laugh.

"How the hell did you do that?" Andy demands. "Would it work with someone bigger than you? No offense, Jesus."

"None taken," Jesus chuckles, nodding graciously.

The Hilltop group are all staring at me, some in awe, some in fear.

"Well," Sasha says, eyeing me with some amusement. "Tell the people."

"It's about  _ leverage, _ " I inform them. "Not size. If you do it properly, yes, it works on people bigger than you are. We'll pair you all off tomorrow and teach y'all how."

They seem satisfied enough with the promise of more training and disperse. Good. There's something I've been meaning to do, something I've been putting off.

"Sasha?" I murmur softly. "Where are they buried?"

*Daryl's POV*

"If you don't marry her, I will," Jesus announces, sidling up to me.

"Huh?" I blurt, tearing my eyes from Adrienne as she disappears behind one of the trailers with Sasha.

"You heard me," he chuckles. "I'm just saying. There's a jewelry store in town not too far from here. We could go tomorrow to, uh,  _ 'scavenge'. _ "

I ain't sure what the hell to say to him, so I say nothing. Ain't like I ain't thought about it. I think she'd say yes. I think it scares me. A lot. I dunno what Jesus sees in my face now, but he lets out another little chuckle.

"Just think about it, okay?" He grins and wanders off in the direction of Barrington House, leaving me to myself.

A jewelry store… ain't never even considered going in one of them places for nothin' before. Didn't have a reason, even if I'd had the money. Now I have a reason and money don't matter.

"Hey," I bark, Jesus turning back with a knowing smirk. "I'll go."

"We'll leave at first light," he says simply as I draw near to him.

"I dunno her size," I blurt, flushing immediately. "Or what she'd even like."

"I can find out," he assures me. "Don't worry. I'll be subtle."

Subtle. Again he turns away, continuing on his course to the house, leaving me to wonder how the hell one figures out ring size subtly.

*Adrienne's POV*

"Hey, Abe," I murmur, settling onto the dirt between the graves. "Glenn."

I sigh, not sure what the hell I'm doing. Sasha had brought me here and left, realizing without words that I needed to be alone for a while.

"I miss you," I choke out, throat white hot and tight as the tears inevitably begin to flow. "After… after the prison, Michonne told me she used to talk to her dead boyfriend. That it helped her process. So… so I guess you're my dead boyfriends."

I chuckle stupidly, sniffing and wiping the tears from my eyes.

"I don't know where the hell you two are," I blurt. "Where, where we go when we die, but I… I'm so sorry, I... Sasha's okay, Abe. Rosita, too. I mean… as okay as you'd expect, considerin'. I thought you'd wanna know. And Maggie… Maggie's  _ Maggie. _ She's… she's gonna be okay, one day. And your baby… god, Glenn, I  _ promise _ I will never…"

I trail off, choking on sobs. Nothing is ever fair, but this… Glenn, Abraham… they're gone and the injustice of it all just fucking kills me. I pull it together, gathering myself with a deep, fortifying breath.

"I'll keep her safe, Glenn," I continue. "I won't ever let anything happen to her, to your baby. And that baby is gonna know who their daddy was. That you were brave and, and fierce and loyal and that you  _ saved  _ people… I... I hope wherever you are, wherever you both are… I hope you're happy. I hope there's somethin', somethin' better."

I remain seated on the ground for a few moments, letting the words settle on the wind and float away. Sniffling, I pull myself to my feet. I dust the dirt off my legs and start towards Jesus's trailer. Maggie, Sasha and Enid have been crashing at his place. I make a mental note to tell Jesus later I'm glad I didn't shoot his ass the day we met. He's come to be a damn good friend, and with such little good left in the world… I'm grateful for his existence.

On my way, I spot Daryl seated atop a wooden picnic table several yards from the trailer. He's sharpening his knife, dark hair casting a shadow over his face in the dwindling sunlight. Watching him, my heart swells in my chest. He loves me. Despite everything else going on right now, despite literally standing on the precipice of  _ war, _ I'm giddy with happiness every time I look at him.

"Hey," I greet, taking a seat beside him.

"Hey," he grunts, his eyes flickering to mine, narrowing. "You all right?"

"Yeah," I sigh heavily, wiping the remnants of tears from my eyes. "Yeah, I am. I just… I was payin' my respects."

He drops his eyes back to his knife, but not before I see the pain flash behind them. The guilt. I see it when he looks at Maggie, too. He blames himself for Glenn, can't forgive himself for it. Not yet. I lean in, pushing the hair from his eyes and brushing my lips against his cheek.

"I love you," I murmur.

I won't tell him it's not his fault. It won't do any good, even if it is the truth. He won't listen. The best thing I can think to do is just to make damn sure he knows I love him anyway. We all do. He's part of us, no matter what. I hope with all my being he knows that. His gaze meets mine once more, eyes welling with tears. Pain, but something else, too. Disbelief, maybe. Love, definitely. I don't need him to say it all the time, hell, once was more than I ever thought… I know he loves me. I should've known all along.

"I'm gonna go see what I can do to help with dinner," I tell him, stroking my thumbs over his cheekbones and getting to my feet. "Maybe I can set the table or… I dunno, put somethin' on a plate."

"All right," he nods, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly, just the hint of a smirk. "Leave your knife, noticed it's gettin' dull."

"But, Daryl," I protest teasingly, eyes gleaming. "What if Jesus attacks me again? You'd leave me  _ defenseless? _ "

"Jus' leave it," he scoffs, eyeing the sheathed blade attached to my belt pointedly. "You know damn well you ain't  _ defenseless _ long's you still got thumbs."

"The way I am in the kitchen, I could  _ lose _ both thumbs," I point out, chuckling. "And then what would I do?"

"I'd still like you," he blurts, ears flushing crimson the second the words leave his mouth.

"Why, Daryl Dixon," I crow, adopting an exaggerated high society southern belle accent. "I had no idea you felt that way!"

"Stop," he mutters, laughing in spite of himself as I lay my blade down beside him.

"Oh, but do you really want me to?" I whisper, leaning in, my breath tickling his ear.

His only response to this is just to blush even harder, and I'm quite satisfied with that. It's a bit of a rush, knowing the effect I have on him. That it's not just me. I grin and leave him to it, practically floating into Jesus's trailer.

*Daryl's POV*

No. No, I don't really want her to. In fact, I'm surprised to discover how little I mind the attention. How much I want to follow her, pull her into my arms and never let her go again. But she's inside with Maggie and I can't. I can't face her. First her dad, then I lost her sister, and now  _ Glenn... _ I can't look Maggie in the eye. I'm scared of what I'll see there. Blame, anger, hatred, sadness… all of it, my fault.

I deserve it.

So I stay outside, darkness falling while I continue sharpening the knives even when it becomes unnecessary. 

-

"Where are you going?" Enid's voice floats into my ears from the open door of Jesus's trailer.

"I'll be back," Adie assures her. "I'm just gonna take this to Daryl. I wanna make sure he eats somethin'."

"Let me," Maggie says, voice softer but just as clear as the others. "Please."

Shit. I freeze, listening to Maggie's footsteps approach. I wanna run. I took everything from her, why's she coming out here? I ain't done nothin' to deserve an ounce of her kindness. But here she is, gently setting a plate down on the table beside me. She don't say nothin', just touches my shoulder and leaves. I hazard a glance at her, watching as she stops short of the trailer and buries her face in her hands.

She only allows herself to cry for a moment, then wipes her tears away and marches inside. I hate myself. I hate what I did to her, hate the pain she's in 'cause of me. It would've been over with Abraham if I'd just fucking stayed on the ground. Still, I notice Maggie's left the door open. An invitation. I can come inside if I want to, but she ain't gonna force me. I don't deserve it.

*Adrienne's POV*

Daryl's sentenced himself to isolation. I get it. He can't see past his guilt, can't see how much he's loved and wanted. Not just by me, but all of us.  _ Including _ Maggie. None of this is his fault. This all comes down to Negan and his empire of cultists. He's gonna pay. They all are.

"You look like you could use a drink," Jesus observes, flopping onto the couch beside me, offering his bottle.

"Gin?" I question, eyeing it dubiously. "I hate gin."

He grins when I snatch the bottle anyway, taking a hearty swig. Jesus, that's disgusting. Still, it feels good going down and I relish in the burn.

"Thanks," I murmur, handing the alcohol over.

"No problem," he shrugs. "Thought we could all lighten up a little tonight."

"That's a dangerous game," I point out.

"It is," he agrees, lifting the bottle to his lips once more.

"Thank you," I blurt, sudden tears springing to my eyes. "I haven't had the chance to tell you. Thank you for bringin' 'im back and… and keepin' Maggie safe. Enid, Sasha…"

I eye the sleeping ladies, watch Maggie's chest rise and fall steadily where she's hunkered down in a worn armchair in the corner of the room, Sasha and Enid on the floor nearby, never straying too far from her.

"That's what friends are for," he says simply. "You'd do the same for me."

"When we met I damn near shot you," I chuckle, taking another sip from the offered bottle.

"True," he laughs. "But you didn't."

"I didn't," I confirm, already feeling the pleasant heat of the alcohol in my belly.

We settle into a comfortable silence, passing the bottle back and forth, taking micro sips every so often.

"Where are you from?" He blurts. "I mean, Alexandria, I know, and you mentioned Falls Church, but where are you actually from?"

"DC," I reply softly. "I was born in DC. Grew up in Falls Church, spent a lotta time in New Orleans with family. My mama and me moved to Atlanta when I was eleven."

"Divorce?" He questions, eyes like laser beams even in the dark.

"Somethin' like that," I mutter.

"I'm sorry," he says, contrite. "I get it. My family was… complicated. It didn't exactly set the tone for healthy relationships."

"Oh, come on," I scoff dryly. "I dunno about you, but I'm  _ totally _ well adjusted."

"Uh-huh," he snorts. "How do you feel about marriage?"

"Are you proposing?" I snicker.

"Yes," he says, not missing a beat. "What's your ring size?"

"Seven," I tell him, wiggling my fingers in front of his face. "Before I agree to this, here are my demands. I want blue roses, like Tennessee Williams. I want gold plated place settings. I want to be married in Notre Dame. I want the Pope  _ and  _ Johnny Cash in attendance. I want-"

"On second thought," he interrupts, pinching my lips shut between his thumb and index finger. "You're not my type. Too high maintenance."

"Asshole," I snort, snatching the bottle from his hands and getting to my feet.

"If it's any consolation, if I liked girls, you'd most definitely maybe be my type," he giggles, his quiet laughter following me out the door.

Daryl's still at the table, idly scraping his knife against a stick. I climb up next to him, shaking the bottle triumphantly.

"I hate gin," he grunts, taking the bottle anyway.

"I do, too," I chuckle. "I was always more of a whiskey person."

He knocks back a large swallow, then places the bottle on the table beside him. I lay flat on my back, looking up at the sky. One thing about the end of the world… the stars have never been brighter. Suddenly, Daryl's hands are on my belt. I glance down, watching him slide my knife into its sheath. It's the most innocent thing, but for some inexplicable reason it feels incredibly intimate. These little touches here and there, the little ways he takes care of me… how the hell did I ever doubt for a single goddamn second he loves me?

Sitting up, I weave my fingers through his hair, bringing his lips to mine. He tastes like gin and, for the first time in my life, I actually like it.

"Come inside," I murmur softly, resting my head against his shoulder. "Get some sleep."

He's silent and my heart sinks. He's not really planning on staying out here all night, is he? I'm about to give up, lie back down on the table because no way in hell am I leaving him out here alone, when he moves. He hops down from the table and offers me his hand. I let out the breath I didn't realize I'd been holding onto and lace my fingers through his, grabbing the bottle of gin with my free hand.

Silently, he allows me to lead him into the trailer. Jesus has relocated, sprawled out on his cot, leaving the couch unoccupied. I sink down onto the cushions, pulling Daryl with me. He slumps heavily against me, his face buried in my neck. I can feel him shaking, his body trembling with silent sobs, his tears wet on my skin. There's nothing I can say, so I just hold him.

"I love you," he whispers, breath cooling his tears on my skin, voice hoarse and gravelly and barely audible.

"I love you, too," I assure him, pressing kisses to the top of his head.

We're gonna be okay.

*Daryl's POV*

"Seven," Jesus announces triumphantly the next afternoon. "And she doesn't suspect a thing. I just need to talk to Maggie and then we'll go. Oh, and I should run it by Gregory. Let him know we're leaving, I mean. Not that he'll even notice before we're back, but just in case. By the way, if you and Adie want a room in the house, I can arrange that. Privacy, an actual bed... I'll get that set up, too."

With that, he's off before I can utter a single damn syllable. His energy exhausts me sometimes. Still, I like him a hell of a lot more than I did the day we met him. Ain't gonna lie, though, that truck load of supplies at the bottom of the lake still pisses me off. I'm sitting on the table I've seemingly adopted as my permanent post when some kind of bell begins to clang. The hell?

"The Saviors are coming!" Kal cries, beating two metal pipes together. "The Saviors are coming!"

"We have to get Maggie," Enid cries breathlessly, sprinting across the lawn towards me.

"Where is she?" I demand, climbing down from my table and following the girl. "Where's Adie?"

"C'mon!"

She leads me to Maggie, and my guts rearrange themselves when I see that Adie ain't with her.

"Where's Adie?" Enid questions, the four of us searching for a place to hide.

"She was with Sasha!" Maggie cries, clearly distressed. "We'll never make it in time."

"Come  _ on! _ " Enid insists.

*Adrienne's POV*

"The Saviors are coming!" Kal roars.

"Shit!" I hiss, tearing towards Barrington House, searching frantically for Daryl.

Rosita arrived this morning to help train the farmers and now she and Sasha are nowhere to be found, neither are Enid and Maggie. I can't see Daryl. I  _ can't see Daryl. _ I send up a silent prayer that he's found Maggie, that they're hidden, and tear across the field. I sprint inside the house and fling myself up the stairs two by two, running into the back hallway and ducking into the first open door I see. I fly towards the window, throwing it open and hastily climbing onto the roof, easing the window shut behind me.

I scramble up the side of the roof and flatten myself against a chimney, yanking my inconveniently conspicuous hair into a tight bun. I pull Daryl's bandana from my pocket and cover my head with it, seething at the absurdity that in these precarious situations something as fucking stupid as my hair could potentially end up getting me killed. I sink down against the chimney, pull my knife out, and wait.

*Daryl's POV*

"Just stay down there," Enid orders. "I'll keep them away. They aren't the same ones who came to Alexandria."

Maggie and I sprint down the stairs and stow ourselves out of sight. Maggie sets to work immediately, moving one of the large shelving units aside, hoping to create more cover in the event any of Negan's pricks come down here.

"Daryl," she whispers, but I'm busy squinting through the crack in the door. "Daryl. Daryl!"

I pull the door closed, but I ain't ready to leave it just yet, opting instead to peek outside through the knothole in the door. I think some part of me is hoping to catch sight of wild, red hair. Where the hell is she? She ain't exactly easy to miss.

"Daryl," Maggie hisses, footsteps now thundering somewhere entirely too close.

Wherever she is, I can't worry about it now. She's smart, she'll be okay. That's what I gotta tell myself. I need to keep Maggie safe. I slip behind the shelf with her, sliding it back into place. We flatten our backs against the wall and wait. It seems like just seconds before the cellar doors creak open, the sound of heavy boots plodding down the wooden stairs. The door swings open, one of the Saviors sauntering in, all the confidence in the world. Prick.

My fingers tighten involuntarily, painfully around the grip of my blade, knuckles turning white. Every cell in my body is on fire, screaming for vengeance, blood. I want to kill this man, run my knife through his skull. He's too close, he's gonna find us. I inch forward, knife poised to strike. Then Maggie's hand is on my shoulder and I freeze. I still can't tear my eyes from the Savior, but I'm all too aware of her touch. It feels like eternity, but the prick does eventually leave, closing the door in his wake. I steal my way silently across the room, peeking through the knothole to be sure the sumbitch is actually gone.

"You were gonna kill that guy," Maggie sighs heavily.

"He was gon' find us," I mutter, not bothering to turn and face her.

"He wasn't, and he didn't," she counters.

"He deserved to die," I point out.

I can't face her.

"Ever since you got here, you haven't said a word to me," she says quietly. "Would you look at me? Please?"

I don't want to. But she ain't giving me a choice this time and there ain't nowhere for me to go and how can I deny her anything after what I took from her? I turn towards her, tears welling in my eyes as I raise my gaze to meet hers.

"Daryl…" she breathes, moving closer.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, voice breaking as the words leave my lips, knowing they ain't enough. "I'm sorry."

Maggie looks stricken, and I drop my gaze to the floor. Sorry ain't shit. Sorry ain't gonna bring him back.

"It wasn't your fault," she murmurs.

"It was," I tell her, nodding, sobbing like a fuckin' baby.

"No," she says firmly, her own tears escaping her. "It wasn't. You're one of the good things in this world. That's what Glenn thought. And he would know, 'cause he was one of the good things, too. And, uh… I wanted to kill that guy, too. I wanted to string 'em all up 'n watch 'em die."

I'm overcome in the moment, guilt and gratitude churning together in my guts, 'cause it's still my fault. It is. But maybe it's gonna be okay.

"But we have to  _ win, _ " she continues, pulling me into her arms. "Help me win."

I nod, dropping my head to her shoulder and letting her hold me. I don't know if I deserve it, but I ain't gonna stop trying until I do. I'm gonna try like hell to be the man she says Glenn thought I was. I'm gonna help her win.

*Adrienne's POV*

After a fucking eternity and a half, the Saviors' engines roar to life and they bid us farewell. I peer around the corner of the chimney, watching their little convoy roll through the gates and out of sight. Dr. Carson's with them. What the hell? Why are they taking Hilltop's doctor? Daryl told us they have their own doctor, Carson's brother. Why the hell do they suddenly need both?

I creep my way down the rooftop, climbing back inside through the window like a goddamn cat burglar. My blood is boiling. They took Hilltop's doctor,  _ Maggie's  _ doctor, and Gregory just let them. I storm down the stairs, curling my fingers into a fist and beating the shit out of Gregory's office door. I don't bother waiting to be invited in, opting instead to fling the door wide open and barge my way inside, letting the door slam shut behind me with a satisfying thump.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I demand, leaning over the man behind the desk.

"Ah, Annie," Gregory smiles benignly. "Always such a pleasure. Get out."

"You let them take your  _ doctor, _ " I snarl, glaring into his eyes. "What are you gonna do next time someone sticks a knife in your belly? Huh?"

Fear flashes in his eyes, registering my words for what they are. A threat. Before he can collect himself, a knock sounds at the door.

"Come in," he barks, a nervous tremor in his voice.

Jesus appears in the doorway, eyes flickering quizzically between my face and Gregory's.

"Freddie said you wanted to see me?"

"Yes, have a seat," Gregory confirms, any trace of worry suddenly gone from his face. "If you'll excuse us, Alison."

Alison might excuse them, but I sure as hell won't. I don't take orders from him, not even if he called me by my right name. I stare him down and he balks, shuffling a few papers as Jesus takes a seat in front of the desk.

"I've, uh…" Gregory clears his throat, choosing to pretend he doesn't care if I leave the room or not instead of trying to force my exit. Good plan. "I noticed you've been slacking on your scavenging and recruiting lately. And there are too many people in your trailer."

He stops, eyeing me pointedly. Tough shit, cupcake. We're not leaving. Maggie and Daryl are safer here than back home and a couple of us are supposed to be dead.

"Fire hazard," he simpers. "Plenty of room here at Barrington House for our guests. Speaking of which, I have job assignments for the newcomers. People are gonna stay, they're gonna chip in. No more free rides on the teat."

He thrusts a notebook at Jesus, who eyes it bemusedly. I lean over, scanning the page. The work is all well and good, but it doesn't escape my notice that he's got us on opposite ends of the colony at all times, not a single shift overlap in sight. He doesn't want us talking.

"You let them take Dr. Carson," Jesus observes, thumbing through the notebook. "Surprised you didn't kneel again. You must be really worried if you're tryin' to split everyone up."

"Shouldn't talk to me like that," Gregory chuckles. "Who knows what might happen with all these Saviors coming around?"

"Did you just threaten me?" Jesus questions, genuinely surprised.

"I was being sarcastic, okay?" Gregory backtracks.

"No," Jesus says firmly, shaking his head. "I think you just threatened me."

"Think what you want," Gregory counters. "You know, what I'm saying is I look out for my friends, and I realized… we're not friends."

"I don't think you have a lot of those," I point out idly as another knock sounds at the door.

"Come in," Gregory sing songs, the door opening this time to reveal Kal with a bottle of Tequila in hand. "Ah, wonderful. Tequila. Crack that open for me, would you?"

Kal obliges, eyes flickering curiously about the faces in the room. Admittedly, we are not an expected trio. Or maybe my presence is the only one out of place. That's probably it, actually.

"You may go now," Gregory dismisses us. "Show 'em out, would you, Kal?"

What, because we don't know where we're going? Jesus and I exchange a glance, the two of us stalking from the room before Kal can even move. He shuts the door behind us, remaining inside Gregory's office.

"What the hell was that?" I hiss, Jesus and I striding towards the front door. "What's he so afraid of?"

"Being replaced," Jesus says darkly.

Just as we reach the front door, it swings open, Daryl storming inside. Relief floods my body. He's okay. I practically hurl myself at him and he pulls me into his side, placing an arm securely around my waist.

"Everything okay?" Jesus questions, taking in Daryl's worried eyes.

"Where's Sasha 'n Rosita?" He demands.

They're gone. They left, went after Negan. Jesus and Enid knew about it and didn't stop them. Jesus Christ.

They're gonna get themselves killed.


	91. Not On This Day

**Chapter 91**

*Daryl's POV*

Sasha and Rosita making a move makes it so we have to get ready for what's after  _ now. _ Adie's convinced they ain't gonna make it outta there alive, but we can't think like that. Rick and the others showed up at Hilltop last night after they realized Rosita was gone. They filled us in, we filled them in, and now we're out setting traps in the woods outside a community Tara called Oceanside. She spent some time there, after her and Heath were separated back on that long run. Heath didn't come back. Tara don't know where he ended up. But Oceanside's got a lot of guns and they got a lot of hate for the Saviors. We need 'em. We're gonna convince 'em, no matter what it takes.

We ain't ready, we ain't even close, but Rick and Michonne found guns. Found another community, too. They made a deal. They'll help us in exchange for guns and a third of whatever we take from Negan's compound when this is done. Adie's been calling them  _ 'the trash people'. _ They live in the dump. I don't give a shit where they stay as long as they can help us. More numbers we have on our side, the better.

"I should've tried harder to stop Rosita and Sasha," Jesus announces, walking past me with a crate full of explosives. "If they'd've just waited one more day…"

"Well, Sasha's a good shot," I point out, laying down rope in the underbrush. "'N Rosita knows how to take care of herself. Probably back at Hilltop right now. Least I hope so. We're gon' need 'em, there's a whole lotta people still gotta die."

*Adrienne's POV*

"I'm glad you came," Aaron murmurs, eyeing Eric.

The three of us are keeping watch while Daryl and Jesus lay the explosives. Any second now, the four men will be moving on without me. I'll be tucked away in the trees, waiting for Daryl's signal.

"I know it's been hard," Aaron continues. "I know you don't want this."

" _ Didn't _ want this," Eric amends. "But I'm startin' to understand what's on the menu now. We can hide like these people, we can keep  _ trying  _ to serve the Saviors, and I can watch you get randomly beaten every so often, or else we can fight. So here we are. And being with you, well… it makes abject terror tolerable. See you later, Adie. Don't get blown up."

We're taking Oceanside. Tara got stuck here on her run a while back. They've got guns and bad blood with the Saviors. We need them to play ball with us. We get them and the trash people, we could take Negan down without The Kingdom. For good.

Michonne's up in a tree, sniper rifle in hand. It's her job to shoot at Oceanside's feet, round 'em up and get 'em where we need 'em to be. A neat little trick we picked up from our time at Terminus. The plan is to set off the bombs, draw Oceanside out, gather them together and force them to listen to us.

I'm the fastest runner, which makes it my job to set off the first bomb and haul ass down the line, making sure each explosive goes off and getting the hell away before I'm blown to smithereens. Simple. Daryl doesn't like it, but who else is quick enough? Even Jesus can't keep up with me for long, and Glenn… Glenn's gone. Suddenly, a whistle cuts through the air. Daryl. They're ready. I echo the tune and pull Daryl's lighter from my pocket, lighting the fuse on the first bomb and tearing into the woods towards the next one.

I can hear the screams coming from the village and feel a little guilty as I set off the next bomb, flying towards the next. But they  _ need _ to be scared. They need to work with us and if fear is the way to get through to them, so be it.

*Daryl's POV*

Obnoxious noises really are Adie's thing. She's setting off them bombs. I know she's fast, but I hate it. I hate it when I can't see her. She's gonna be okay. She has to be. After the second bomb goes off, we spot 'em. Two girls hauling ass towards the building Tara told us about. Their arsenal. Michonne's watching though, shooting into the dirt at their feet before they can reach the guns.

"On the ground, now," I order, emerging from the woods with Aaron, Eric, and Jesus. "Those hands, put 'em on your head."

One of the girls ain't cooperating yet. We wanna get this done and over with firing a shot, at least any fatal shots, but I'll kill her if I have to. This is too important.

"Please," Jesus urges.

The second girl drops to her knees and he sinks down beside her, binding her wrists together with a short piece of rope. I pull the bandana from my pocket and wave it in the air like a lariat, signalling Michonne to stand down. We got both girls bound and are herding them towards the meeting spot, where the rest of Oceanside is on their knees, just as the last bomb goes off.

"Everybody down!" Francine hollers.

"Hands on your heads," Tobin adds.

"Everybody stay calm," Carl orders. "We don't want anyone to get hurt. Stay down and listen to what we say."

"We want this to go as simply and as peacefully as possible," Gabriel assures them. "All of you can make it that way."

"Get down over there," I tell the girls from the arsenal. "Keep quiet."

"Now, we made a lotta noise," Rick announces. "We wanna wrap this up quick so you can send people to redirect anything comin' this way. Tara said your forests are relatively clear, so we won't take any chances. No one needs to get hurt. This is just about what you have, what we need."

While Rick is setting up his speech, I catch movement in the woods just beyond us. Adie's here. She's safe.

*Adrienne's POV*

I set off the third bomb and run, legs pumping harder and faster than ever, carrying me to the fourth and last bomb. Then it's done. They all went off without a hitch. Pocketing Daryl's lighter, I pull the shotgun from my back and run towards the gathering place. I break from the woods into the large clearing, taking in the scene before me. Oceanside on its knees, my people all in one piece, all safe with the exception of one. Tara, an older woman holding her at gunpoint. This must be Natania, Oceanside's leader. Shit. I back into the trees, grateful Oceanside's backs are turned. I haven't been seen.

"Nobody's taking anything!" Natania shouts. "You need to let everyone go and leave right now. Just walk away or this one dies."

I need to disarm her. This woman shoots Tara and Rick won't think twice. Hell, none of us will. It'll be a slaughter. Rick catches my eye, spotting me just beyond the treeline. He nods almost imperceptibly, letting his eyes flicker back to the woman in front of him. 

"Yeah, we'll leave you alone," he says calmly. "But we're takin' your weapons with us. That's not gonna change. It's Natania, right? Put the gun down, and let's talk about what we  _ can _ change."

"No," Natania insists. "Leave. Right now."

"Michonne, don't!" Tara cries, then I remember Michonne's sniper rifle.

She's watching right now, ready to pull the trigger, and she's a damn good shot. She won't miss. Shit. If we're gonna do this without killing anybody, I need to get that damn gun away from Natania. I just need to get to her undetected. If she sees me coming, she'll kill Tara and then we'll have to fight and waste the bullets we came here to get more of.

"We just wanna be left alone," Natania shouts.

"Yeah, we'll leave you alone," Rick assures her. "Just let go of her. Now. Or we'll kill you. None of us want that."

"They want us to fight the Saviors," A girl standing next to Natania announces.

"We tried that," Natania barks. "We  _ lost. _ Too much. We're not gonna lose anymore. Not our guns, not our safety, not after everything we've done to get here."

"We're gonna win!" Tara cries. " _ With _ your guns, with or  _ without _ your help."

"Natania, put the gun down," Rick says imploringly.

"You kill me, and you die," Tara points out, the gun still flush with the back of her head. "And my people take the guns and nothing changes."

"Maybe we should try," one of the women on the ground suggests, her people murmuring their general assent.

"Grandma, stop," the dark haired girl beside Natania says. "It's over. Just talk to them, okay?"

"It's  _ not _ over!" Natania roars, glaring at her people. "They've forgotten. You've  _ all  _ forgotten. Some of you actually want to fight them? After everything? We can lose our guns, but leaving this place to fight?  _ After everything?! _ I have to remind you! Yes. I am gonna do this, and then I'm gonna die. But it's  _ that _ important. This is your life, all of you! Remember what it looks like. Remember what they did to us! You need to see this. Open your eyes!"

"Rick!" Michonne bellows from the trees. "Walkers!"

Damn. Now or never, I suppose. I hurtle from the forest and launch myself at Natania, wrenching her arms up, forcing her shot to the sky before smacking the gun from her hands as the crowd of walkers emerge from the trees.

"Sorry," I blurt.

"Everybody up!" Rick orders. "Get the children behind us. They're coming!"

"First shift, join 'em on the line!" An Oceanside woman with cropped hair commands. "Knives out. Dead only.  _ Dead _ only!"

"Don't go anywhere," Rick says sternly, slicing the binds from her wrists and handing her his knife. "Everyone, shots within ten feet of the line. That's it."

We all line up, Daryl and I side by side, waiting for Rick's order.

"Now!"

Gunfire pierces the air, controlled shots taking down the walkers as they come. Less than ten minutes later, we're left with ringing ears and a heap of bodies. I pick my way through the corpses, yanking Daryl's bolts from their heads and wiping them on my jeans. The short haired woman returns Rick's knife to him, and they shake hands. Maybe… maybe we can work with them. They know how to fight.

"No," Natania's voice shatters any hope I'd been feeling. "We're not fighting them with you. So take your damn guns and go."

I hand Daryl his bolts, watching the stubborn old woman march her way back into her house. She may be content to just sit here and hide in the woods while the Saviors continue to terrorize other communities, but that doesn't mean all her people feel the same way. Tara told us what happened. Negan and his men came to them, slaughtered their boys. All of them, some just into their teen years. Took their husbands, their sons, their brothers… and Natania won't fight?

Rick, Michonne, Daryl and I stand guard, the people of Oceanside watching helplessly while we pilfer their guns, leaving them next to defenseless. How are we any better than the Saviors? This whole thing just feels... inhuman. Before I can stop them, tears well in my eyes and slip down my cheeks. Fuck.

"What's your deal, Carrot Top?" A girl who can't be more than ten or twelve demands, glaring at me.

"Rachel!" The short haired woman scolds.

"What?" Rachel shrugs. "She's being a baby."

"Anyone ever tell you you're a bit of an asshole?" I blurt.

"Yeah, so?" She snarks. "At least my  _ people _ aren't a big  _ bunch _ of assholes like yours."

Fair enough. I'm not gonna argue with a prepubescent brat, though. At least my people are  _ doing _ something. 

"We don't need all this, do we?" Gabriel questions, sidling up to Rick.

"Yeah," Rick sighs. "Yeah, we do."

He's right. This is how it has to be. That's what I tell myself and I know it's true but… it still feels wrong.

"We're gonna bring them back when it's all over," Tara promises, eyeing Natania's granddaughter, Cyndie.

"I  _ want  _ to go with you," she murmurs. "Some of us do, but not all of us, and it has to be all of us. My grandmother thinks you'll all be dead."

"Yeah, well, your grandmother's wrong about a lotta things," Tara points out. "Where is she?"

"She didn't wanna see this," Cyndie shakes her head. "She's lying down."

"Thanks for saving my life before," Tara says. "And the other time. Oh, and then the other time. Maybe today. Thanks." 

Cyndie just chuckles and shakes her head, watching as we all move out with her people's weapons, but before Tara can make it more than a couple yards from her, she speaks.

"Hey," she blurts. "Thank you. For what  _ you're  _ doing."

Hell. These women are fierce. They  _ can _ fight, they're just choosing  _ not _ to. I get that it has to be all of them, I do… I just can't wrap my head around why some of them won't. Why they're okay with hiding.

"You're not leaving us  _ any? _ " Rachel demands.

"Nope," Tara says breezily, flipping the bird. "See you later, Rachel." 

"You all right?" Daryl questions, eyeing me with concern as we tromp our way towards the RV.

"I'm fine," I murmur, guilt turning the words sour on my tongue.

He touches my elbow and I glance up at him, meeting his gaze. He knows I'm lying. He's not fine with this, either. But we both understand. This is how it has to be. We load the guns into the RV and it's time to go home. Daryl leads me to his bike and, as inconceivably shitty of me as it is given the circumstances, I feel a tiny little thrill of excitement skitter up my spine.

He mounts the bike and I climb on behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist and resting my chin on his shoulder, pressing a kiss to his neck simply because I can't help myself. His ears flush beet red and he starts the engine. The bike roars to life, rumbling beneath us, and I feel human again. Maybe this is what it's all about, why we're fighting so hard, this right here. For love and the way the wind feels on our skin and the exhilarating sense of freedom one feels on the open road. Because we  _ are _ human, because we're  _ alive. _ And maybe it's okay to still feel all those things. Maybe this is  _ why _ we're alive.

*Daryl's POV*

I'm pretty sure if heaven exists, it's in Adrienne's arms on an open highway just endlessly stretching out across eternity. As though reading my thoughts, she nuzzles my neck and I forget how to breathe for a second. I could do this forever. Riding bikes was the closest thing to freedom I ever got before the turn. That's one thing in the world that ain't fucked all to hell, at least.

The trip home from Oceanside is about a four hour drive, give or take, and we ain't back to Alexandria until after dark. It feels good, rolling up to these gates on my own terms. It feels like coming home. Ain't never thought I'd see the day home was the fucking  _ suburbs, _ but here we are. The gate slides open, and I feel Adie tense against my back as Rosita steps into view. Only Rosita. The bike ain't even come to a full stop before Adie flings herself off of it, sprinting towards her and pulling her into a fierce hug.

"Hey, are you okay?" Enid questions, the rest of us approaching the embracing women.

"Where's Sasha?" Jesus adds.

She don't need to say it. Sasha ain't with her. She's either dead already or wishing she was.

"There's someone here," Rosita murmurs when Adie releases her.

She leads Adie, Rick, Michonne, Tara, Jesus, and me to the cell Morgan built after them Wolves attacked. Our visitor rises to greet us, still wearing my vest. I see nothing but red.

"You're shittin' me," Adie breathes.

Dwight.

Every muscle in my body tenses, adrenaline coursing through my bloodstream. He should be dead. He _deserves_ to be dead. He killed Denise on them tracks, held a gun to my head _twice,_ _tortured_ me… I lunge for him, unable to help the feral snarl that escapes my lips. He's gonna die.

"Woah!" Rick soothes, several pairs of hands holding me back. "Woah, woah, woah. Slow down. Come on."

It ain't working. I can't, I can't slow down, I can't...

"Daryl."

Adie. Her voice cuts through the red, brings me right back from the edge. She's suddenly in front of me, back to Rick's chest, her eyes boring into mine. Wide, honest… safe. I trust her. Her hands are splayed flat across my chest and I'm sure she can feel my heart thundering beneath her palms. She nods, her eyes never leaving mine, and all them other hands clutching at my arms, my shoulders, my  _ skin… _ they let me go.

Adie moves to stand at my side, her hand resting softly on my elbow. She ain't trying to hold me back. She knows I can do it on my own. That hand is just a reminder she's here, with me. She's on my side.

"He says he wants to help us," Rosita explains.

"That true?" Rick demands, turning to face Dwight. "You wanna help?"

"I do," Dwight nods, but I can't believe him.

I won't believe him.

"Okay," Rick nods, pulling his pistol and cocking it, looking down the barrel at Dwight's resigned face. "Get on your knees."

Dwight cooperates, eyes on mine as I begin to pace the cell. He knows. He knows I'm gonna kill him, no matter what this little stunt turns out to be. If it's a trick, he's dead tonight. If it ain't, if he's actually here to help us… he's dead the moment Negan's body hits the ground and not a damn second after.

"Look at me," Rick orders. "Why?"

"'Cause I want it stopped," Dwight announces. "I want Negan dead."

"Why don't you kill him yourself?" Adie demands.

"Can't just be me," he replies. "They're  _ all  _ Negan."

"That girl you murdered?" Tara spits, crouching down before him. "She had a name. Her name was Denise and she was a doctor. And she  _ helped _ people."

"I wasn't aimin' for her," he points out, as though it absolves him of any guilt.

I snap, lurching forward and yanking the sorry sack of shit to his feet, shoving him against the wall by his throat. I have him at knife-point, ready to run my blade through his eyeball and into his brain. Adie's at my side instantly, fingers curling around my forearm.

"Doesn't matter if you were aimin' for her or not, she's who you hit," she snaps, then turns her eyes to me. "Daryl. We should listen to what he has to say first."

First. Meaning she wants him dead, too. Just not yet. We can use him.

"Do it," Tara urges. "Do it."

"It won't bring her back," Adie whispers, tears welling in her pleading eyes.

She's right. I know she is. But I also know she ain't gonna stop me. I don't know what the hell to do. I want vengeance. I want to plunge my knife into Dwight's skull and watch him die like we had to watch Denise die.

"You wanna end it this way, you go ahead," Dwight breathes, the tip of my blade a hairsbreadth from puncturing his eyeball. "I'm sorry. I am. I know you want to."

"He could just be here to see if you were here," Rick points out, and whatever color Adie had drains from her face.

She takes a step back, stricken, as she considers this possibility. But I don't think that's it. I don't think Negan knows he's here.

"We can't trust him," Michonne agrees.

"He owned me," Dwight chokes out. "But not anymore. What I did, I was doin' it for someone else."

He eyes Adie pointedly and I increase the pressure of my hand on his neck, watching him struggle for air for just a moment. He don't get to look at her like we got something in common. She ain't nothing like Sherry. Adie didn't kneel, didn't think about it for even a goddamn second. She ain't weak like Sherry, and me and Dwight ain't the same.

"She just got away," he rasps, eyes flickering back to mine. "So now I'm here. So are you, because of her."

"Do it!" Tara cries.

"There's another choice," Dwight says imploringly.

"Daryl," Tara pleads, voice turning almost frantic. "Daryl, you knew her."

"Negan trusts me," Dwight continues. "We work together, we can stop him. You knew me then, and you know me now. You know I'm not lyin'. I'm not."

"Do it!" Tara repeats.

I get it, I do, but I need her to just  _ shut up. _ I hate it, but he's right. I know this guy. He ain't lying to me. Sherry's gone and he ain't got nothing else to live for, ain't got a reason to be Negan's lapdog anymore. We can use him. We can use him, and  _ then _ he dies. I lower the knife, gripping him tight by the throat.

"They have Sasha," Rosita murmurs. "If she's even alive."

"Why didn't you say something?" Jesus questions. "He could be our only chance to get her back."

"Because I don't  _ trust _ him," Rosita spits. "But I trust Daryl."

I release Dwight.

"Negan's comin' soon," he informs us.

"Wanna be less fuckin' vague?" Adie demands. "When's 'soon'?"

"Tomorrow," Dwight clarifies. "Three trucks probably. Twenty Saviors and him. I can slow 'em down, bring some trees down in the road, buy a little time for you guys to get ready. If you can take them out, that's where we start. You kill them, I'll radio back to the Sanctuary."

"The Sanctuary?" Rick questions, sidestepping Adrienne to stand beside me.

"Where Negan lives," Dwight explains. "That's what they call it. I can radio back to 'em and say everything's okay. You drive the trucks back, I can lead you right inside, and with the right plan, we can wipe out the rest. Check to see if your friend's still alive. Then we get the workers on our side, build our numbers up, and go from outpost to outpost and end this."

"Our side," Adie echoes, dumbfounded, whirling around and rubbing her temples in frustration.

"Keep talking," Rick says softly.

*Adrienne's POV*

"Are you sure?" I murmur, standing beside Rick and Daryl as we all watch Dwight get into his truck and take off.

"We just started it," Rick nods. "The whole thing."

"What if he's lyin'?" I counter anxiously.

"If he's lyin', I'm gon' kill 'im real slow," Daryl says softly. "When this is done, I don't give a damn if he's sorry. I  _ will  _ kill that sumbitch."

"If he's lyin'..." Rick trails off, turning to face us. "This is already over."

He sighs and walks away, he and Michonne disappearing into their house. Daryl's silent, glaring at the now closed gate as though he can see right through it to where Dwight is, speeding on home to Negan.

"We're gonna take off," Jesus announces, suddenly materializing in front of me with Enid, Judith on his hip.

"Right now?" I demand, gesturing vaguely at the blackened sky. "You sure that's safe?"

"Maggie needs to know what's going on," he shrugs. "I cleared it with Rick. We need to get Judith somewhere safe. It's a short trip, we'll be fine."

"Be careful," I concede, knowing I can't stop them.

Rosita opens the gates, Jesus and Enid vanishing into the night. Nothing to do now but wait.

"C'mon," I murmur softly, taking Daryl's hand and leading him inside. "We should at least try to get some sleep."

He allows me to lead him though our house, eyes sweeping the now barren rooms as we make our way to our bedroom. Third door on the right. I push the door open and he scoffs, taking in the untouched furnishings.

"Hell's this?" He demands.

"Negan's idea of a gift, I suppose," I mutter, crossing the room and pulling the quilt off our bed. "Grab the pillows?"

He obliges, snatching them up and following me down the hallway. We're not sleeping in there, cozy in our bed, while our people sleep on the floor. I lead him into Carol's old bedroom. The Saviors had stripped this room clean, but graciously left the bedding in a heap on the window seat. I drop our quilt to the floor, then stride towards the window to shake out Carol's blanket. I lay it on the floor, flattening it over the indents her bed frame had left in the carpet.

"Pillows," I instruct.

Daryl tosses them to the floor beside where I'm crouched. I grab them, placing them neatly on the floor, long sides against the wall. I turn, assuming a cross-legged position atop the blanket and yanking my boots off, setting them aside before removing my belt and staring up at Daryl expectantly.

He gets the hint, shutting off the light and lifting our blanket from the heap on the floor. He shakes it out, then covers me with it. He, too, removes his boots and belt before joining me on the floor, lying flat on his back beneath the covers. I curl onto my side, watching him.

"You think I should've killed 'im?" He questions softly, staring up at the ceiling.

"I trust you," I tell him fervently, his eyes flickering to mine. "I trust your gut, I know you wouldn't've let him leave if you thought he was lyin'."

"Rick wanted to kill 'im," he sighs. "Michonne... 'n Tara."

"I know," I tell him, brushing the hair from his eyes. "But… no one killed him. Any of us could've, but we didn't because  _ you _ didn't. We trust you to make that call. If we didn't, he wouldn't've left here alive."

"Yeah," he concedes, nodding to himself. "Yeah. Jus' hope it's the right call."

"I do, too," I whisper, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "But, whatever happens, we'll handle it."

He seems to accept this, and I nestle into his side, resting my head against his chest, right over his heart. I love being here like this, where I can hear his heart beating and feel the warmth of his skin through his shirt. Feel his chest rise and fall in time with his breath. My eyes flutter closed, sleep taking over.

-

The next thing I'm aware of is the jarring sound of someone knocking insistently at the door, Daryl's arms tightening protectively around me.

"Let's go!" Rosita demands, her fist delivering another assault on the door. "I need your help."

"We're comin'," I groan sleepily, burrowing my face in Daryl's neck.

"Yeah, fine, whatever," she snaps impatiently. "Just hurry up."

"Ain't she a peach?" Daryl mutters, the two of us setting about disentangling from each other.

"Yeah, she's a real mornin' person," I murmur, stifling a yawn as he helps me to my feet.

We're silent, yanking our boots on and snaking our belts securely around our waists. Daryl snatches his crossbow from where he'd leaned it against the wall last night and we're ready. Morning preparation doesn't take much these days. Daryl's fingers curl around the doorknob.

"Wait," I blurt, suddenly realizing I'm not quite ready to give up our fleeting privacy just yet.

He freezes, eyeing me quizzically. I snake my arms around him, weaving my fingers through his hair and bringing his lips down to mine. He deserts the door, any and all thoughts of leaving this room now gone completely out the window. His hands fall to my hips and he whirls us around, my back now flush against the door as he lifts me from the ground, my legs wrapping securely around his waist.

I can't think of a single thing I wouldn't give to stay right here in this spot for eternity. He breaks the kiss all too soon, his forehead pressed against mine. We lock eyes, staring breathlessly, each trying to find the restraint to walk away, neither of us particularly wanting to do so. But we have to. I give in to reason first and he sees it in my eyes, sighing ruefully and lowering me gently to my feet.

"Come  _ on! _ " Rosita hollers from downstairs, breaking the spell entirely.

"We better go before she blows a gasket," I chuckle, pressing one more chaste kiss to his lips.

"We ain't done here," Daryl promises, the look in his eyes sending shivers down my spine as he opens the door, gesturing for me to lead the way.

I'm able to pull myself together just enough to concentrate on the plan Rick's laying out over breakfast. After he and the others left Daryl and me at the Kingdom, they'd come across explosives the Saviors had set up to take down a massive herd. They'd taken them, then checked out the quarry like I'd suggested. Between what they'd taken from the Saviors and what they'd found at the quarry, we have enough dynamite, C-4, and TNT to waste the Sanctuary several times over, even after using some of our supply to terrorize Oceanside.

The plan is simple. We set up the bombs in the rusted out semi trailer parked several yards from our gates. Rosita sets up the detonator. Negan and his twenty men roll up, we blow 'em sky high, putting bullets into any who manage to escape the blast alive.

-

"Shit," Rosita mutters, she, Daryl, Aaron, and I setting up the trailer. "We're gonna need more rope."

"I got it," I volunteer, hopping out of the trailer and heading inside.

I sprint towards Olivia's house, where we still keep the inventory despite her being gone. I pick through the meager supplies in her garage, snatching up a roll of thin, plastic rope and hauling ass back outside just as the RV comes rolling in. Rick, leading a small convoy of dump trucks through our gates. The trash people. Rick said they had numbers, but knowing they have numbers and  _ seeing _ the dozens of people spilling out of the trucks and into our community are two different things.

"What you fight for," a tall woman with chin length hair observes, eyeing our little town.

This must be Jadis, the leader of the trash people.

"Not the place," Rick corrects her, clapping my shoulder as I watch the newcomers assemble. "The people. Each other. You're a part of that now."

"We take," Jadis muses. "We don't bother. Our way. Maybe another way."

Michonne shoots me a warning look before I can ask why the hell this woman doesn't speak in full sentences. I keep my mouth shut. Rick nods at the peculiar woman, who turns to eye me. Sizing me up, I suppose.

"Yours?" She questions, nodding at Rick.

Mine? As in… oh. Oh, no. The idea is so ridiculously absurd I can't help the giggle that escapes my lips. Rick eyes me, appearing slightly affronted but amused nonetheless.

"We're together," Michonne steps in, rescuing me from having to explain that no, Rick is not mine.

"I lay with him after," Jadis announces, locking eyes with Michonne. "You care?"

It's too much. Michonne and Rick, their confusion, Jadis with her matter of fact proposition…

"Uh," I blurt, struggling to contain the cackle desperate to rip itself from my throat. "Excuse me. I need to get this to Rosita."

I hold up the rope, then sprint off through the gates and down the street, Daryl already waiting to help me into the trailer. I toss the rope to Rosita, finally allowing the laughter to escape.

"Something's funny to you?" She snaps derisively.

"No," I blurt defensively, sobering. "Well. Yes, actually. Jadis, uh… seems to be under the impression she'll be  _ layin' _ with Rick after all this."

"What?" Aaron questions bemusedly, chuckling softly. "As in…"

"Oh, yeah," I confirm, even Daryl and Rosita smirking at the news. "Asked Michonne if she  _ cares. _ "

Daryl snorts, shaking his head and placing a bundle of dynamite into my hands. Rosita and Aaron tend to the C-4 while Daryl and I secure the dynamite bundles with rope and duct tape. The bombs are ready. We pile out of the trailer and move into position behind our gates. We've done all we can do. We're as ready as we can get. We're gonna win.

*Daryl's POV*

They're coming. One of the junkyard snipers must've spotted 'em, a chorus of turkey calls signalling the Saviors' arrival. This is gonna work. It has to. We have to win. Adie, sensing my nerves I think, grabs hold of my hand and squeezes. She's with me.

"Rosita," Rick calls down from the gate watch post. "Get into position. I'll signal you. And the wall's gonna hold?"

"It'll hold," Rosita assures him, Adie and I nodding our agreement.

It's gonna hold. We set up reinforcements. It'll hold. Just in case, we parked a car lengthwise along the gate. Rosita'll hit the detonator, dive behind the car with me and Adie. Even if the gate don't hold, we'll be shielded. It's gonna work.

"All points are covered," a familiar voice booms from a bullhorn. "Every contingency is already met. I come armed with two barrels of the truth."

"Motherfucker..." Adie breathes, squinting at the flatbed rolling up to our gates.

Eugene, no worse for wear. Sure as hell don't look like he's been tortured. I wish I could say I'm surprised.

"A test is upon you and I'm givin' out the cheat sheet," he continues, the truck coming to a halt in front of us.

"That spineless little shit," Adie mutters, beside herself. "He sold out!"

"Hello," Eugene greets, staring up at Rick. "I come salved with the hope that it is my dropped knowledge that you heed. Options are zero to none. Compliance and fealty are your only escape. Bottom linin' it, you may thrive or you may die. I sincerely wish for the former for everyone's sake. The jig is up and in full effect. Will you comply, Rick?"

"Where's Negan?" Rick demands, voice thick with emotion.

"I'm Negan," Eugene replies, lowering the bullhorn.

Rick and Rosita exchange a loaded glance. When we decided to blow the sumbitches up, no one thought Eugene would be one of 'em… but he  _ chose _ this. He betrayed us.  _ Again. _ Rick nods, giving the signal. Rosita don't hesitate for even a second, pressing her thumb hard against the button on the detonator. We shield ourselves, but the blast don't come. We fucked something up. No… no, we didn't. I checked it, Adie, Rosita, Aaron, we all  _ checked _ it.

We're gonna have to gun 'em down. Some of our people could die, but we ain't got another choice. Rick raises his gun, the rest of us following suit, but before a single round is fired, we've all got guns to our heads. The junkyard people. They ain't with us. I whirl around, trying to find a way outta this, but we're surrounded. One of the junkyard people rushes forward, pulling open our gates as Negan himself steps out of one of the trucks, bat in hand, followed by Dwight.

"You ever hear the one about the stupid fuckin' prick named Rick who thought he knew shit but didn't know shit and got  _ everyone _ that he gave a shit about killed?" Negan questions with a grin, pointing at Rick. "It's about  _ you. _ You're all gonna wanna put your guns down now."

"No one drops anything," Rick orders, and we stand our ground as he turns to Jadis. "We had a  _ deal. _ "

"Tamiel came for the boat things," Jadis announces. "Followed ones who took. Made a better deal."

"You push me and you push me," Negan muses. "And you  _ push  _ me, Rick. You just tried to blow us up, right? I mean, I get me, my people. But  _ Eugene? _ He's one of yours. And after what he did? He stepped up."

"He's  _ not  _ one of ours," Adie spits, angry tears streaming down her face. "He's nothin' but a goddamn coward."

"Adrienne," Negan chuckles indulgently. "How many times are you gonna make me remind you?  _ Interrupting _ is  _ rude. _ "

Adie's eyes turn to fire, not leaving Eugene's guilt stricken face.

"You people…" Negan says, turning his attention back to Rick. "Are  _ animals. _ Universe gives you a sign, and you just shove your finger right up its ass."

He raises his middle finger, chuckling again, and I wanna kill him.

"Dwight!" He orders. "Simon! Chop chop."

I watch in horror as Dwight and Simon climb onto the flat bed, unfastening the straps and lifting a canvas from whatever the hell they'd loaded onto the truck. A casket. It's a casket on a furniture dolly. The two men wheel it to the center of the flatbed and turn it upright, Negan standing beside it.

"So, you don't like Eugene anymore," Negan observes. "You guys  _ gotta  _ like Sasha."

Adie tenses in my periphery, stiffening at the spine, fingers twitching for the blade hanging from her belt.

"I do, too," Negan continues, tapping his bat against the casket. "Got her right here, packaged for your convenience, alive and fuckin' well. Now, I brought her so I wouldn't have to kill all of you, and _not_ killing all of you could get complicated. See, I know there's a lotta firepower left in there, Rick. So I'm gonna make this simple. I want all the guns you've managed to scrape up. Yep, I know about those, too. I want _every_ _last grain_ of lemonade you got left. I want a _second_ date with Little Red _and..._ I want a person of _your own choosing…_ for Lucille."

His eyes land on mine. He ain't gonna let me stay here. Adie balks, eyes flickering between my face and Negan's bat.

"Daryl…" Negan muses. "Ooh, I  _ gotta  _ get me my Daryl back. I see you."

Like a flash, Adie's body is in front of mine, coiled and ready to lunge at the first person who approaches. Like hell. She ain't going down for this. If I'm the one they take, so be it. I put my hands on her shoulders, intent on moving her back behind me, but she shakes me off, whirling around and glaring at me before turning forward again. Negan's eyes flash, face suddenly alight with recognition.

"Oh-ho…  _ You? _ " He asks, eyeing Adie in disbelief and chuckling, pointing his bat at me. "And him? Come on. You're kidding, right?"

Shame rises up like bile in my throat, humiliation coloring my cheeks. But Adie don't move. She ain't backing down. She loves me.

"Daryl, you  _ dog! _ " He crows, beaming at me like we're old pals. "What in the holy shit did you do right in your fuckin' sad, miserable life?"

"Go to hell," Adie snarls, Negan chuckling gleefully at her agitation.

" _ And… _ " he starts, turning back to Rick. "I want that pool table. And all the pool cues  _ and  _ chalk, and I want it now or Sasha dies, and then all of you.  _ Probably. _ C'mon, Rick. Just because I brought her in a casket doesn't mean she has to leave in it."

He sighs disparagingly, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration at Rick's refusal to choose.

"You know what?" He demands. "You suck  _ ass, _ Rick. You really fuckin' do. I don't  _ wanna  _ have to kill her, but that's exactly what you're gonna make me do."

"Let me see her," Rick orders, stepping forward and calling Negan's bluff.

"Oh," Negan chuckles, eyes narrowing. "All right. Just give me a second. I might have to get her up to speed, you can't hear  _ shit  _ inside this thing."

He taps the casket with his bat again, once, twice. No way in hell. She ain't alive in there, if she's in there at all.

"Sash," he says, prying open the lid. "You're not gonna  _ believe _ this shit."

He barely cracks the lid before it flies open, swinging violently on the hinge.

*Adrienne's POV*

"Holy goddamn!" Negan roars, caught off guard as Sasha's snarling, reanimated corpse shambles out of the casket.

He falls backward from the flatbed, Sasha's body landing on top of him, clawing at his flesh. I whirl around, firing into the trash people. Seems I'm not the only one, Carl, Rosita, Tara, and Daryl are shooting them down as well. The unmistakable sound of tearing flesh reaches my ears despite the chaos around me. Rosita's been shot.

"Tara!" I roar. "Get her outta here, I'll cover you,  _ go! _ "

Tara grabs hold of Rosita, ducking beneath her arm and supporting her weight. She takes off towards the infirmary, and I shoot down every junkyard double crosser in their path. They're safe. Where the hell is Daryl? Rick, Carl? I sprint frantically out the gates, spotting Rick and Carl on their knees, surrounded by Saviors. Rick's bleeding, he's been shot. And Negan... Negan's got that bat raised, he's behind Carl. No. No, no, no, no!

I hurl myself towards them, but something grabs hold of me, a hand clapping over my mouth. I jerk violently against my captor, biting down on their hand.

"Let me go!" I snarl, trying to wrench myself free.

"Son of a bitch," a voice I recognize hisses. "Adie, it's me!"

"Carol?" I blurt, freezing.

She loosens her grip, allowing me to turn and face her. Carol. It's  _ Carol.  _ She's here. The Kingdom is here. Holy shit,  _ Shiva _ is here… I watch as the tiger lunges at the Saviors, raw, unadulterated power in her every movement. She releases an earth shattering roar, tearing ferociously into one of the Saviors while Negan and his men scatter. Carl's safe. I choke on my sobs, tearing towards my boys. Carl's  _ safe. _ The Kingdom is here. We're not dying, not today.

"End these Saviors and their accomplices!" Ezekiel roars, his people charging into the fray. "Alexandria will not fall!  _ Not  _ on this day!"

I'm out of bullets, but it doesn't matter. We will _ not  _ kneel. I flip my gun onto my back, yanking my knife from its holster and hurling myself at the Savior kneeling over Carl, dragging my blade across his neck, barely registering the hot, sticky blood splashing across my face as I pull Carl to his feet.

"You're okay," I say breathlessly, helping Rick to his feet before plunging my knife into the fallen Savior's skull. "You're okay. Move! Go, go, let's go."

"Fan out!" Maggie's voice startles me, and I whip around. "Third group, now!"

Hilltop is here, Daryl and Maggie leading them side by side. Daryl's safe. He's safe. He's- oh my god _ , Maggie. _

"What the  _ hell  _ are you doin' here?!" I demand, but she ignores me.

"Move!" Daryl snarls. "Move up, now! We got your backs!"

And so I move.

"Don't shoot me!" I screech, launching myself at a fleeing Savior's back.

I slit his throat, lodge my knife into his eyeball and move on to the next worthless scumbag.

"Why ain't you usin' your gun?" Daryl questions, suddenly right behind me.

"Outta bullets!" I holler, plunging my blade into another skull.

"How?!" Rick demands, but we don't have time to discuss this shit right now.

Besides, I have a gun now. I pull the Glock off the Savior I'd just dispatched and heft it in my hand. We need to keep moving, get to Negan before he gets away. I tear off in the direction he'd run, spraying bullets at Saviors and Jadis' people alike, searching for the man with the bat. He doesn't get to live. Suddenly, we're cloaked in smoke. The trash people. They set off smoke bombs, they're leaving. Cowards. All of 'em.

"They're falling back," Rick observes, several of us huddling against the side of a dump truck.

"They don't get to live!" I snarl, hurtling after Negan's retreating truck.

He's got his hand out the window, middle finger raised, gloating even  _ still. _ I push myself further, faster, legs pumping, lungs burning. But I can't outrun a truck. I slow, raising my stolen gun, and take my shot.

"Fuck!" Negan's howl reaches me from his truck, his gloved, bloodied hand disappearing into his open window.

I feel a brief flash of satisfaction. Maybe he's not dead, but he's definitely hurt. He's bleeding. It's not enough, but it's a damn good start. My bubble is burst entirely when a hail of gunfire erupts around me, a bullet grazing my leg as a truck full of Saviors screeches past, unloading on me as they make their getaway. I dive into the underbrush on the side of the road, gunning down at least two of the Saviors as they speed on past me.

I look down at my leg, the calf of my jeans blooming crimson. It hurts like a bitch. I have no other choice. I stay hidden. I wait. When the rumbling engines sound distant enough, I pull myself to my feet and limp my way back towards home. I'd chased Negan's truck much further than I'd realized, and the slow trek takes a bit of time in my injured state, but I do eventually reach the gates.

"Hey!" I holler, curling my fingers into a fist and pounding on the gate.

"Adie!" Carol cries, her face appearing in the space between the wall and the chain link.

The gates slide open and I'm suddenly enveloped by at least eight people, one of whom, inexplicably, is Jerry.

"Why aren't you at the infirmary?" I demand, catching sight of Rick.

"Adrienne," he chokes tearfully, grinning and pulling me into a hug. "What the hell's wrong with you?"

"I had to try," I murmur, meeting Daryl's eyes over Rick's shoulder.

Rick releases me and Daryl flies forward, gathering me into his arms, body shaking with sobs.

"Adie…" he breathes, sniffling and burying his face in my neck. "I thought…"

"I'm not," I assure him, stroking his hair as his body heaves against mine. "Shh… I'm not."

"You're bleedin'," Morgan points out.

Daryl backs away, holding me at arms length while his eyes search my blood splattered body for the stain that actually belongs to me. Carol crouches down beside me, carefully examining my leg.

"One of 'em got me on the way out," I spit, pissed. "Just a graze, I'm fine."

"You need stitches," Carol mutters, straightening.

"No, I  _ need _ to find Sasha," I counter impatiently.

"Adie," Maggie soothes, placing her hands on my shoulders. " _ We _ will find her. Go get that leg cleaned up. We'll bring her home, I promise you."

Daryl's not giving me a choice, apparently. He sweeps me off my feet. Literally, off my feet and into his arms, carrying me to the infirmary like I'm a goddamn gimp, Rick on his heels. Daryl places me on a bed between Rosita and... Holy shit.

Michonne's unconscious, her face swollen, bruised and bloody. Rosita's sleeping, too, probably on a hefty dose of painkillers.

Tara rises from Rosita's bedside, immediately tending to my wound. Denise taught her 'the basics', whatever the hell that means. Enough she was able to take care of Rosita and Michonne, and enough that she's stitched me up in no time, declaring me free to go and moving on to Rick. Watch for signs of infection, keep it dry, yes, I know, I've been stitched plenty of times, thank you, and I'm off.

Daryl leads me to our bedroom, gently pushing me onto the bed. Wordlessly, he places a tiny, wooden figurine in my palm, then turns to the closet to retrieve clean clothes for me. I guess he's not a fan of the blood soaked t-shirt and jeans I'm currently sporting. I turn the little wooden man over in my hand, taking note of the message on the back, hastily scrawled in black ink.

DIDN'T

KNOW

"Dwight?" I question, returning the figure to Daryl as he places a pair of cargos and one of his shirts beside me on the bed.

"Yeah," he murmurs, pocketing the trinket and helping me to my feet. "Found it hidden by the gate."

"So, he took the time to leave a message even though we were shootin' at him," I observe, stripping my shirt off and handing it to him. "Hell of a gamble. If he was lyin', he'd've just ran with the others."

"That's what I think," Daryl agrees, holding me steady as a step out of my boots and shimmy my way out of my gore covered pants.

Once I'm decent, Daryl and I make our way out to the porch, sinking down next to each other on the swing. Daryl pulls me into him and I realize he's crying again. He must've been terrified. Shit. My heart breaks a little, sinking in my chest as I realize how reckless it was, running after Negan like I did. Didn't even stop to think what it would do to Daryl if...

"I'm sorry I ran," I whisper, tears welling in my eyes.

"I know why you did it," he assures me, hooking his index finger beneath my chin and lifting my eyes to his. "You had to try."

"But I didn't," I argue softly. "They were leavin'. I could've just left well enough alone."

"That ain't you," he points out, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly upward despite the tears in his eyes. "You ain't never left well enough alone, not one damn time. You ain't never settled for  _ enough, _ hell'd you start now?"

"It wasn't even _ worth  _ it," I lament, sighing heavily, my head dropping to his chest while his thumbs draw slow circles on my back. "Just a buncha wasted bullets."

"The way you were shootin' off rounds, you had to've hit somethin'," he scoffs.

"Yeah," I huff indignantly. "His hand, and  _ only  _ 'cause the prick was wavin' his middle finger out the window like a fuckin' asshole."

"Bet it hurt like a sumbitch, though," he says, and when I look up at him my heart nearly stops.

He's grinning. He's fucking  _ grinning. _ I've never seen him smile like this, sure as hell never thought I'd see it now. It was only for a second, the grin turning into a small smile, but I saw it.

"What?" He grunts, shifting uncomfortably at my stunned silence.

"Nothin'," I tell him, smiling to myself. "I just love you."

He flushes, ears turning crimson, but the smile doesn't leave his face. It suddenly strikes me how absurd it is, our happy little bubble in the middle of all this mess, and a giggle comes tumbling from my lips before I can stop it.

We're gonna be okay.


	92. You're Beautiful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains smut, proceed with caution if it's not your bag

**Chapter 92**

*Daryl's POV*

Maggie and Jesus found Sasha. Maggie put her down and we buried her here with our other dead. It don't seem right, her not being laid to rest beside Abraham. But at least she's been buried. It don't really matter where. After the burial, Rick, Maggie, and Ezekiel rallied the troops. The Kingdom, The Hilltop, and Alexandria are united. We barely even made a dent today. Negan and several of his men got away, thanks to them Junkyard assholes. But we got numbers, now. With The Kingdom, we got more weapons, too.

I'm sitting here on Carol's porch swing, just waiting. I don't even know what for, not really. Ain't much else to do now, though. Not tonight. We'd buried our dead, burned the rest, tended to our wounded. Adie's gone off back to the infirmary to 'check on Michonne'. I think she's actually checking on Rick, who ain't left Michonne's side since the funeral. Somewhere in the middle of all the chaos this morning, he'd heard Michonne scream, thought she'd been killed. I get it. She ain't dead, just beat up. I wouldn't leave if it was Adie, either.

"Hey," Jesus greets, plunking down on the swing beside me.

"Hey," I nod. "Where's Maggie?"

"At the infirmary," he sighs. "Adie's not thrilled she's here at all. The word 'irresponsible' is being thrown around a lot. By both parties involved."

He chuckles disparagingly, shaking his head. It is kinda funny. Irresponsible. Adie'd know all about that shit, being the loose goddamn canon she is. 

"But that's not why I came here," he announces, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a ring.

Jesus Christ. He places it in my palm like it's nothing, like it ain't shit. It feels heavy for such a tiny thing. Heavy, but fragile, all delicate silver filigree, a massive diamond in the center. Must be worth a goddamn fortune. I feel like I'm ruining it somehow, just touching it.

"One of the Barrington women's great great great grandmother's," Jesus informs me. "It's from the Edwardian era. 1903, platinum, 3.7 karat diamond. It belonged to Helena Barrington. The only other ring in the display in Adie's size was this truly hideous art deco thing from the '30s, she'd have hated it."

"Display?" I repeat dumbly, eyeing the ring.

"Yeah, back at The Hilltop," Jesus explains. "I had to break open the display case, but I didn't think the Barringtons would mind. I figured, since we never made that run to the jewelry place…"

He trails off, shrugging. I tear my eyes from the ring, meeting his gaze.

"Now?" I question, fingers curling around the ring.

"Why not?" He counters, smiling softly. "Now's as good a time as any."

Why not? I can't think of a reason not to. He's right. I ain't never felt this sure about anything in my life. I glance down at the ring in my palm, the diamond glittering in the fading light. Why the hell not? I nod, getting to my feet. Jesus trails along behind me as I stomp my way towards the infirmary before I can talk myself out of it. Now or never.

*Adrienne's POV*

"I'm just sayin'," I cross my arms, eyeing Maggie's belly pointedly. " _ You _ have a baby to consider."

I'd come to the infirmary to make sure Rick was okay, and stayed to argue with Maggie about why she shouldn't be on the damn front line. Carol, Rick, Carl, Gabriel, Morgan and Tara are here, too. Michonne and Rosita are both sleeping, Maggie and I trying our best not to wake them despite our current mutual irritation with each other.

"You think I don't  _ know  _ that?" Maggie snaps, eyes ablaze. "I  _ am  _ considerin' my baby! I don't wanna bring him into this world until Negan is  _ dead. _ "

"Him?" I question, momentarily distracted by the distinction.

"I… I just have a feelin'," she says, softening. "I feel like he's a he."

We fall silent when Daryl comes barrelling into the room, Jesus right on his heels. Oh, hell, what now? Daryl's face is hard, jaw set, tense as he marches towards me. I exchange a glance with Jesus, my brows furrowing in confusion at the smirk on his face. He doesn't look worried, so what the hell is Daryl's pro- 

Oh my god.

"Marry me," Daryl blurts breathlessly, gaze boring into mine, holding up a delicate, silver ring between his thumb and forefinger.

Is this… is this happening? Tears well in my eyes while I stare into Daryl's. His face softens and he looks absolutely terrified, but his hopeful gaze never strays from mine. This isn't a dream, he really is standing here with a fucking  _ ludicrously _ massive diamond, asking me to marry him in front of our family.

"Yes," I breathe, and he slides the ring onto my finger.

It fits perfectly. Time stands still, and in this moment, it's just him and me. Just us, alone together, in our own intimate little bubble.

"Holy  _ shit, _ " Maggie breaks the silence, snatching my hand in hers and staring at the diamond on my finger.

"Edwardian," Jesus supplies, grinning knowingly. "3.7 karat."

"I'll be damned," Rick chuckles bemusedly, eyes flickering from my face to Daryl's and back.

I look around the room, take in the faces around me. Carol, tears streaming down her face, hands clapped over her mouth. Carl, smirking like he knew it all along. Morgan, smiling tearily. Everyone's crying. Everyone conscious, at least.

"Well," Gabriel smiles indulgently, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a Bible. "Shall I do the honors?"

Here? I exchange a glance with Daryl. He looks mortified, like he's trying to figure out how the hell we got to this point in time, and I can't help but laugh. Why the hell not? Except for one thing…

"I didn't get you a ring," I blurt, earning a cackle from Jesus.

He strides forward, pulling a simple silver band from his pocket, waving it triumphantly and placing it in my hand. Then it hits me. How do you feel about marriage, what's your ring size… that crafty little shit.

"Gin!" I hiss, pointing an accusatory finger at the giggling man.

"You hate gin," Jesus smirks.

"Shall we get started?" Gabriel questions patiently. "I think the Lord would see fit that we forego a more traditional ceremony, given the circumstances."

He proceeds to hand Jesus the Bible, stepping towards Daryl and I, motioning for the two of us to join hands.

"Daryl," he says solemnly, the faintest hint of a smile in his twinkling eyes. "Do you take Adrienne Blake as your lawful wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish as long as you both shall live?"

"Yeah," Daryl says softly, gazing into my eyes with so much tenderness, my heart swells and bursts inside my chest. "I do."

"Adrienne," Gabriel says, turning his attention to me. "Do you take Daryl Dixon as your lawful husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish as long as you both shall live?"

"I do," I nod, tears spilling over as I slip Daryl's ring onto his finger.

"You may kiss the bride," Gabriel announces cheerily.

Daryl leans in, no hesitation as he presses his lips to mine. It's a chaste kiss, short, but I don't think I've ever felt more loved. We break apart, eyes locked on each other.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife," Gabriel grins, and just like that… I'm Mrs. Dixon.

It's the most surreal, unbelievable, wonderfully absurd, absolutely perfect moment. Mrs. Dixon. Adrienne fucking  _ Dixon! _ I feel like a giddy thirteen year old, writing my name with my crush's last name all over the inside cover of my Lisa Frank notebook in shimmery pink gel pen. I'm fucking  _ married! _

"Man," Carl sighs, breaking the silence. "Michonne's gonna be pissed you idiots didn't wait for her."

This revelation tickles everyone in the room, a chorus of laughter erupting from our little impromptu wedding party.

"Carol," Rick murmurs. "Would you mind keepin' an eye on Carl 'n Judith, stayin' at my place tonight? I'm gonna stay here."

Daryl barks out a startled laugh, he and I both flushing at the implications of Rick's request. Carl's more than capable, he takes care of Judy all the time. Rick is just not so subtly giving us some privacy, the whole house to ourselves for a night. I shoot him a furtive look of appreciation and he nods, eyes twinkling and wet with happiness. I guess he approves.

"Get the hell outta here," Carol orders with a grin, gently ushering Daryl and I to the door.

She pulls me into a hug, then brings Daryl's face down to her lips, pressing a kiss to his cheek before releasing us. I beam up at Daryl, taking his hand in mine and leading him home.

"Wait," he stops me before I can open our front door, and I freeze, regarding him curiously.

My stomach flutters as he lifts me into his arms.

"Wanna do it proper," he grunts, opening the door and carrying me through it, bridal style.

I giggle, wrapping my arms around him as he carries me up the stairs. He opens our bedroom door and I'm shocked by the scene that greets us. The bed is made, our pillows and blanket having been retrieved from Carol's floor. The room is bathed in a warm glow, lit tea lights adorning every available surface. The window seat, our bedside table, our dresser… Daryl sets me gently on the bed and snatches a piece of paper from the dresser, turning beet red and chuckling to himself as he reads the note before placing it in my hands.

Sorry we broke into your house, Jesus put us up to it. Congrats, newlyweds!

Love,

Aaron & Eric

"Sneaky shits," I laugh, gazing around the room as I kick my boots off.

"Mhmm," Daryl grunts, removing his own boots and belt.

I unfasten my belt and hand it to him. He places our weapons in the nightstand drawer, then moves to crawl into bed beside me.

"Wait," I blurt, and he freezes. "I'm gross."

"Huh?" He questions, brows furrowing in confusion.

"I have blood…" I trail off, flushing in embarrassment. "I just… I'm gross."

"It ain't the first time you been 'gross', Adie," he points out, chuckling.

"I know, but still," I insist. "There's  _ candles, _ Daryl. This is, this is supposed to be romantic and I don't wanna ruin it."

He eyes me amusedly, smirking in the candlelight. Then he lifts me from the bed, carrying me down the hall and into the bathroom. He sets me on the counter, then reaches behind the shower curtain and turns on the faucet. He turns, eyeing me expectantly as steam begins to cloud the air and my thoughts.

"You ain't gon' get un-gross jus' sittin' there."

Shit. He's right. He smirks and I swear to god, my skin ignites. I have no idea where the hell this side of him is coming from, this newfound bit of confidence, but I like it.

He steps towards me, nudging my legs apart with one knee as he tugs my shirt up and over my head, carelessly tossing it to the floor. His eyes roam my body, a hunger there I'm still not used to seeing. This man sets my soul on fire. I weave my fingers through his hair and pull him down to me, crashing my lips into his. He bites down on my bottom lip, then breaks the kiss.

"I told you we ain't done," he reminds me hoarsely, pressing his lips to my neck, then trailing small kisses down the column of my throat, down my sternum.

Suddenly he darts to the left and catches my nipple between his teeth. He bites down gently, flicking his tongue over the bud as I gasp and arch against him. Jesus Christ… I slip off the counter, tugging at his shirt.

"We're wastin' water," I point out breathlessly, arching an eyebrow.

He pulls off his shirt and it joins mine on the floor. I shimmy out of my cargos and kick them aside. He's staring and the look in his eyes… I feel beautiful. I grin up at him, then crook a finger and step into the shower.

"You comin'?" I question, smirking to myself as I hear his jeans hit the floor, joining our heap of discarded clothing.

He steps into the shower just as I tip my head back, letting the hot water cascade through my hair, over my shoulders, down my back. He moves towards me, pushing my wet curls from my face, just looking at me like he's trying to memorize me exactly as I am in this moment. He pulls a lock of my hair aside, considering.

"How the hell do you wash all this?" He blurts.

"The same way you wash yours," I laugh, grabbing the bottle of shampoo and squeezing just enough to get the job done into my palm.

He watches for a moment while I work the shampoo into my hair, the heady scent of vanilla and lavender thick in the air, then tips his head back, letting the water run through his own hair. I squeeze a bit more shampoo into my palm and motion for him to turn around. He allows me to wash his hair, letting out a low growl while my fingernails massage his scalp.

"Jesus…" he sighs, switching places with me, running his fingers through my hair while the water washes the suds away.

I grab the bar of Irish Spring from the shower caddy, soaping up my hands, pretending not to notice his gaze roaming my skin as I wash my body. I pass him the soap when I'm finished, switching places with him once more and rinsing the bubbles from my skin while he scrubs. I can't help my eyes from wandering his body, watching the muscles move beneath his skin, marveling at the way his arms ripple as he washes.

"You're beautiful," I blurt.

His eyes snap to mine, surprise registering on his face. Then he scoffs, placing the soap back onto the caddy. He grips my arms, gently turning me sideways so he can stand beside me underneath the water.

"You are, Daryl," I murmur softly, pushing the hair from his disbelieving eyes.

He stares at me, suddenly vulnerable, looking as though he's waiting for me to laugh at him, tell him I'm kidding. I'm not. He is beautiful. I stare right back, watching him slowly come to terms with the truth. I think he's beautiful. He seems to accept it, dipping his head once before shutting the water off.

We step from the shower, the two of us toweling off before silently heading back to the warm glow of our bedroom.

*Daryl's POV*

Beautiful. The most beautiful woman on the goddamned planet thinks I'm beautiful. I almost don't believe it, but she's got that look in her eyes… she ain't lying to me. She never has. She really does think I'm worth something. She loves me. I'm watching her from our bed while she pads about the room, blowing out the tea lights. The way she looks… her silhouette is glowing in the light of the tiny flames, her bare skin shimmering. My god, she's the reason I breathe.

Once she's satisfied the house ain't gonna go up in the night, she crawls into bed with me, her lips immediately on mine. She smells like vanilla and lavender and cinnamon and Irish Spring and something that's just her and I'm pretty sure heaven's just wherever she happens to be at any given moment. She climbs onto me, her legs on either side of my waist, and I damn near forget what goddamn planet I'm on when I feel her heat, already slick and so inviting, resting against my stomach.

Something inside me just fucking snaps, giving in to mindless instinct. I grab her waist almost a little too hard, roughly maneuvering her where I want her the most, every cell in my body screaming with the need to be inside her. I buck up into her, filling her in one quick thrust, and the noise she makes… Jesus, that sound. I can feel her pulse around me, she's so damn tight. I lift her slightly, then drive up into her, eliciting that breathy moan again, her back arching, her head dropping back, her hair grazing the tops of my thighs.

Suddenly she's got my hands pinned to the pillow and she's riding me, and I don't know how the hell she's doing it, but her hips roll forward with every other thrust and if she keeps doing that shit this ain't gonna last much longer. This girl is just something else. And she's mine.

"Turn over," I mutter, not giving her a chance to move before I'm flipping her onto her belly, settling behind her.

I didn't know if I'd like this, not being able to see her face, but her ass is fucking perfect and she has them little dimples right above it that sometimes show when her shirt rides up and those drive me crazy, so that's where I hold her while I line myself up with her slick entrance. I put my thumbs right in those dimples and slam into her.

"Oh, my god!" She cries, arching her back, her fingers clutching at the sheets. "Oh, my…  _ fuck, _ Daryl."

"You like that?" I pant, slamming into her again.

And I don't need to see her face right now to know she does.

"Fuck, yes, Daryl…" she whimpers.

She's close, I can feel it, and I still can't fucking believe she's mine and that she lets me do this to her. She glances over her shoulder and those fucking eyes… I lean over her back, biting down on her shoulder while I pound into her, an almost feral sounding moan tearing itself from her throat. She arches more, tilting her ass up and burying her head in the crook of one arm against the pillow while the other snakes around her body, fingers desperately seeking my hand.

She guides my fingers to her clit and I can't fucking believe how wet she is right now, but she gets wetter when she places her hand over mine, pressing my fingers against her. I move my index finger around in those tiny circles I know she likes and it don't fucking matter if we got the house to ourselves, all the noise she's making.

"Harder…" she begs. "Fuck, please, Daryl, just… oh, fuck, yeah, that's, Daryl, right there, I'm…"

She trails off, regressing to just sounds while she comes undone and I fucking did that, holy shit, but I need to see her face now. I wanna watch her, I wanna see it happen. I flip her around again and maybe I shouldn't like it as much as I do, but I fucking  _ love _ throwing her around a little and I love that she loves it and I can. I ain't gonna break her. She spreads her legs for me, looking up at me with this delirious little grin like she ain't quite come down yet, and fuck, she's all I want, and I can't help but stare.

"What?" She questions, tilting her head.

"I love you."

And then I'm sinking into her again, her legs wrapped around my waist, her hands tangled in my hair, she's surrounding me and it's almost like I'm suffocating, drowning in her.

"I love you…" she pants, arching and grinding up against me.

She's falling apart again and she's so fucking beautiful like this, the way she looks like she's crying and singing at the same time, and before I can even try to make it last, I'm emptying myself inside of her, my world flashing this brilliant white while my insides rearrange, and I'm spent, collapsing onto her, and for the first time I don't feel guilty for this. It's overwhelming and I don't know why the fuck we can't ever do this without the tears, but the tears come anyway and it's still okay.

"I love you," I murmur breathlessly. "I'm gon' love you forever, Mrs. Dixon."

*Adrienne's POV*

I wake some time before dawn, still tangled up in Daryl. But something's… off. I can feel it in my guts. Something isn't right. My stomach lurches, my mouth suddenly watering. Oh,  _ shit. _ As quickly as I can without waking Daryl, I creep out of bed and silently sprint down the hallway and into the bathroom. I fall to my knees and grip the toilet bowl just in time.

"Adie?"

So much for stealth. He crouches down behind me, pulling my hair back as I continue to vomit violently into the toilet. Once the limited contents of my stomach have expelled themselves, Daryl flushes them down and helps me to my feet.

"I'm fine," I assure him, staring up into his concerned eyes.

"Sure as hell don't look fine," he scoffs, watching while I turn on the tap and lean forward, filling my mouth with water and swishing it around. "You feel sick?"

I spit into the sink, then grab my toothbrush and the mini tube of cinnamon toothpaste from the drawer.

"I feel fine," I tell him, and it's true.

I don't feel queasy in the least, not anymore.

"I dunno what happened," I shrug, sticking my toothbrush into my mouth and scrubbing the taste of bile from my teeth and the back of my tongue.

Daryl eyes me uncertainly, brows knit with concern as I spit pale pink toothpaste foam into the sink, rinsing my mouth out while it swirls down the drain. I meet his eyes in the mirror, watching as his ears suddenly flush crimson and his gaze drops to the floor.

"What?" I question, shutting off the tap and wiping my mouth on the back of my hand as I turn to face him.

"Nothin'," he mumbles, eyeing me shyly from beneath his lashes.

Then it occurs to me. We're both standing here completely naked. There's bruises on my hips, my shoulder, my neck. I flush, something pleasant humming through my body at the memory of his hands, his  _ mouth. _ He's trying not to look like he's looking, but he's totally looking. I can't help but laugh.

"What?" He demands, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly upward as he fights his own laughter.

"I just puked my guts out in front of you and  _ you're _ embarrassed?" I question, stepping into his open arms. "Shouldn't it be the other way around?"

"Yeah, well," he grunts, wrapping his arms around me and sniffing my hair. "You're cute, even when you're pukin'."

He leads me back to our bed, and the two of us take full advantage of our last couple hours of privacy before getting showered and dressed for the day, grabbing a couple apples from the bowl that had appeared on the kitchen counter some time in the last 24 hours -courtesy of Aaron and Eric, no doubt- and heading off to meet Rick at the infirmary. Daryl's fingers stay laced with mine the entire two minutes it takes to walk to our destination and, despite the loss we'd experienced yesterday, I'm on cloud nine. Adrienne Dixon. Mrs. fucking Dixon. I still can't believe it.

But it's real. Every so often, the big ass diamond on my finger catches the light and reminds me. I never thought I'd be the marrying type. It seemed silly before, and now? Well, it just didn't seem practical. At least, I thought so until last night.  _ I'm gon' love you forever, Mrs. Dixon. _ He looked me right in the eyes and I swear to god, the whole goddamn universe aligned in that moment. We're not promised time, not before and not now, but… I'm gonna try my damnedest to make sure forever lasts as long as this world will allow.

Daryl opens the door at the infirmary, holding it open for me to step inside. Carl looks up as we enter the room, then, smirking, begins to obnoxiously hum the wedding march. What a punk. Daryl blushes, but takes my hand in his anyway. He's more at ease than I've ever seen him around other people. I beam up at him, squeezing his hand.

The room is packed, and the heat from all the bodies in here makes my stomach roll. Rick, Maggie, Jesus, Carol, Jerry, Ezekiel, and Tara are all here, presumably having assembled to discuss what the hell our next move needs to be. Obviously, we hadn't planned on Negan or his men leaving, and we need to go after them before they come after us. Again. It's war. Michonne and Rosita are both awake, and I'm relieved until I see Michonne's expression.

"One night," she sighs, voice still quite weak. "You two couldn't've waited one more night?"

"I think she means congratulations," Rosita murmurs with a grin.

"Yeah, sure," Michonne mumbles, glaring for a fraction of a second before she cracks, a grin spreading across her face. "I still wanted to be there."

"You were," I point out with a chuckle.

"Yeah, but I wasn't  _ there  _ there," she protests huffily, still unable to wipe the smile from her lips despite herself.

"What's the plan, Rick?" Carol blurts, interrupting the banter with more pressing matters.

The room sobers and we get down to business. We hash out a plan. Dwight didn't know about Sasha. Daryl believes that, and I trust Daryl more than anyone else on the planet. Still, we aren't gonna trust Dwight with any details. He's still a potential liability, no matter how much he wants Negan dead. So we're gonna move in quietly.

We're going to Hilltop. They have smithing supplies and scrap metal. We're taking all our vehicles and welding metal sheets onto the sides. While that's happening, a smaller group of us are going to set up hidden explosives. We're gonna use those explosives to guide a large herd straight into the Sanctuary. On the way to Negan's, we're gonna take out his four watchmen he keeps posted on the main roads around the Sanctuary one by one. There's a lot of moving pieces to the plan, and it's gonna take some time, but if it works out the way we think it will, Negan and his Saviors will be trapped at the walker-filled Sanctuary. That keeps them occupied while we take out the rest of his outposts. We take his weapons, his supplies… his men, should they choose to surrender. We take Negan. Then it's over.

Daryl's gonna head to the Sanctuary, get a message to Dwight. We're coming for the Saviors. Then he'll meet the rest of us back at Hilltop. I hate this part. I hate being separated from him, never knowing for sure where he is or if he's coming back. But Rick needs me at Hilltop, so that's where I'll go.

"I'm gonna gather everybody, let 'em know the plan," Rick says, rising from his seat at Michonne's side. "Be ready to leave in an hour."

Michonne looks about as sick as I feel. She wants to come with us, be with Rick. She's in no condition to go, though. She, Carl, and Rosita are staying here. None of them are particularly thrilled, but Rosita and Michonne are injured and Carl's safer here.

"You gon' be alright?" Daryl questions, eyeing me concernedly. "You sure you ain't sick?"

"Sick?" Maggie questions, she and Carol stopping just short of the door Rick and everyone else had just walked through. "Adie, if you're sick-"

"I'm not sick," I insist. "Just a little nauseous this mornin', it's nothin'."

Maggie's eyes widen, she and Carol exchanging a knowing look. Daryl's still looking at me, evidently reluctant to leave just yet.

"I'm fine," I assure him, pressing a kiss to his lips. "I promise. Go. I'll see you at Hilltop."

After a few more seconds under his silent scrutiny, he relents, nodding.

"Be safe," he murmurs, wrapping me in a quick hug.

"I will," I whisper. "You be safe, too. I love you."

The moment he's out the door, I'm cornered by Maggie and Carol, who are both eyeing me appraisingly.

"What?" I demand, moving over to the cupboards and gathering a few first aid supplies for the trip.

"Adie," Maggie says hesitantly, and something in her tone causes me to stop what I'm doing and turn to face her. "You and Daryl, you're bein' safe, right?"

Being safe? Oh, Jesus Christ. I feel the color drain from my face as I do the math in my head. Oh,  _ no… _ Carol's face softens as she watches me put the pieces together. My last period was... two months ago. Maggie snatches a pregnancy test from a drawer beneath the cabinets, stowing it in her waistband before taking my hand in hers.

"C'mon," she says softly as she and Carol lead me back to my house.

Ten minutes later, the three of us are standing in the bathroom together, staring at the test sitting on the counter beside the sink. Both women had mercifully ignored the pile of discarded clothing Daryl and I had left in a heap on the floor last night and neglected to clean up this morning. My stomach is in knots.

"How long do these things take?" I fret, raking my hands through my hair.

"About three minutes," Maggie says, rubbing my shoulders soothingly.

"How long has it been?" I demand.

"Thirty seconds," Carol says wryly.

I sink to the floor with a groan, covering my face with my hands. It has to be negative. I can't take care of a baby. Last time I was left in charge of anyone, two people died. How the hell am I supposed to be a mom? A fucking  _ baby. _ A tiny human entirely dependent upon me to keep it fed and safe and  _ alive. _ I can't do this, I can't. There's no way. Maggie suddenly lets out a noise between a gasp and a laugh, interrupting the anxiety swirling around in my brain. I leap to my feet, hope rising in my chest as I lean over the stick, praying to every entity to ever exist in the entire fucking cosmos…

"Congratulations," Maggie grins, genuinely happy for me.

Carol says something, too, but the blood is rushing in my ears and I don't hear her. Suddenly, bile rises in my throat. I twist to the side and, the toilet not being an option on such short notice, vomit into the tub.


	93. The Hilltop Stands With Maggie

**Chapter 93**

*Daryl's POV*

Adie's off. She's avoiding me, barely said ten words to me in two days. It ain't like her. I'm trying to figure out what the hell I did wrong. She said I didn't do nothin', that she's just nervous, but… I just feel like that ain't the whole truth. She's nervous, but I don't think it's just about tomorrow. 

Gregory ain't here, so Maggie's running Hilltop like she should be. This means we ain't staying in Jesus' trailer. Adie and I have a room in the house for the night. She's laying beside me. She's silent, but she ain't sleeping. Feels like she's a million miles away and it scares me. This must be what Rick meant when he said she was just gone, after what happened that night with Abraham and Glenn. Suddenly, her breathing changes. She's crying.

"Adrienne," I murmur, pulling her into my arms.

She sniffles, hiding her face in my neck. I still ain't great at dealing with emotions, but it's Adrienne. I know her. She needs to cry shit out sometimes, and I need to let her. So I just hold her until the tears slow.

"What's wrong?" I question softly when she finally surfaces, looking me in the eyes.

She's silent, tears still slipping down her cheeks. She looks terrified and I have no damn clue how the hell to fix it.

"I'm pregnant," she blurts.

What?

"No, you ain't."

"I took a test, Daryl," she mutters. "I'm pretty sure I am."

She's… how the hell am I supposed to take care of a baby? Jesus, what if she don't make it? What if she ends up like Lori? I don't want a baby.

"Is this what you want?" I question finally, eyeing her as she stares up at the ceiling.

"Does it matter?" She sighs sadly, her eyes sliding to mine. "I don't see another option, do you?"

She's staring at me expectantly. No. No, I don't see another goddamn option. Before I realize what I'm doing, I'm out of bed and slipping my boots on. She watches silently, doesn't protest. I cross the room, pausing only for a moment before leaving her. I need some air.

*Adrienne's POV*

Daryl didn't come back last night. He didn't come back last night and he was gone this morning when Maggie came to drag me from my bed. She didn't ask questions. She took one look at my face and knew better. I'd barely slept. My eyes are red-rimmed and puffy despite my tears having long been dry. I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do. Maggie leads me outside, down the path and out the gate where everyone's gathered.

She gives my hand a squeeze and deposits me beside Jesus before climbing into the bed of a truck with Rick and Ezekiel. Our three leaders face us as we assemble around them, all of us ready and willing to die for our freedom. For a chance at a better future. I won't stop until Negan's dead. Rick meets my eyes for a moment and I know… I know I'm not the only one doing this for vengeance. We're fighting for tomorrow, yes, but we're also fighting to right the wrongs of yesterday. For Glenn. For Abraham. For all those who suffered death at the end of Negan's bat.

"When I first met him…" Rick starts, eyeing the group surrounding the truck. "Jesus said that my world was gonna get a whole lot bigger. Well, we found that world. We found each other. That bigger world is ours by right. That we've come together for it, all of us… it's that much more true. It's  _ ours by right! _ Any person who would live in peace and fairness, who would find common ground… it's their right, too. But those who  _ use _ and  _ take  _ and  _ kill _ to carve out the world and make it theirs alone? We  _ end  _ them! We don't… celebrate it. We don't have shame about it, either. There's only one person who has to die… and I will kill 'im myself.  _ I will. _ I will. But if it's the others… the others who prop him up, stand by his side, even those who just look the other way… so be it. Then… we keep makin' the world bigger."

At this, his eyes settle on me and he grins. Making the world bigger… he  _ knows. _ I glance sharply at Maggie. She shakes her head. She didn't tell him. Carol? Daryl? God, I don't wanna talk about it. This isn't something I want to celebrate.

"Together," Rick finishes.

"Together," Ezekiel agrees, eyes bright as he steps forward, arms raised. "Bound forever! To quote The Bard, 'for he today who sheds his blood with me shall be my brother,'" he claps Rick on the shoulder, then regards Maggie with a smile. "And for she today…" he continues, touching her shoulder. "My sister."

Shiva lets out a roar, concluding the King's speech with her agreement.

"We've practiced," Maggie says heavily. "We've been through it over and over again. We all know the plan doesn't end this morning. That we may have to live in uncertainty for days, maybe more. That we have to keep our faith in each other. If we can hold onto that with  _ everything we have, _ the future is ours. The  _ world _ is ours."

"I don't wanna wait for it anymore," Rick sighs, hopping down from the truck bed. "You don't, either. Yeah, I know. So we don't have to wait for it. If we start  _ tomorrow _ right now… with everything we've beaten, everything we've endured, everything we've risen above, everything we've  _ become _ ! If we start tomorrow  _ right now… _ no matter what comes next, we've  _ won. _ We've already won!"

Damn. I can't help myself from letting out a cheer. Seems that no one else can either. There's a chorus of cheers and battle cries, all of us touched by the passion and surety Rick delivered his speech with. We've  _ already  _ won. It's time to head out. Morgan and Daryl should have taken down three of Negan's four watchmen. Rick's gonna take care of the other on our way in. Any minute now, Daryl and Morgan should be meeting up with Tara and Carol at the overpass the herd will be crossing beneath. This plan will work. We just have to stick to it. We pile into the cars, feeling somewhat safer with our makeshift armor than without, and head out.

*Daryl's POV*

I'm trying my best not to think of Adie. I got shit to do. Still, I feel guilty. I shouldn't've left like I did. Should've at least said goodbye. I fire a silenced round into the Savior on the platform at Dawson highway. He falls, a nearby walker making a meal out of him pretty damn quick. One down, one to go. Morgan's taking care of the guy stationed at that old clinic and Rick's got the last one on their way into the Sanctuary.

I mount my bike, speeding off towards the Savior watchpost at Reyes Street. Even on the open road, alone, wind whipping around my face… I still can't shake the guilt. I'm gonna make it right. She's gonna come out of the Sanctuary alive and I'm gonna make it right. I slow the bike and stow it in the trees a mile or so from Negan's watchpost. Don't want the bastard to hear me coming. I move silently through the woods until I spot him. A Savior, having himself a smoke on the hood of his car.

He don't see me. I sneak up behind him and yank him off the hood. He don't have time to react before I bury my knife in his skull. I ain't interested in nothin' this guy's got, except his gun and his cigarette. I could use something to take the edge off. Nothin' calms you down quite like the soothing feeling of cancer filling your lungs. I snatch the gun off his body, examining it while I puff on the cigarette. Revolver, seven rounds. Ain't all that interesting, except the tallies scratched into the top of the gun. 43. This guy killed 43 people.

Hell's he keeping track for? Ain't like it matters. He's a Savior. Those 43 people reduced to nothin' but a fuckin' tally… he deserved to die. If there's a hell, this guy's earned himself a one way ticket. I finish my smoke and head back to the bike. Morgan should be with Carol and Tara on the overpass by now, and they're all probably waiting on me.

*Adrienne's POV*

"Be  _ careful, _ " Michonne murmurs, hugging me tight.

We'd come back home to collect a few more essentials. Ammo, fuel, first aid. We're as ready as we're gonna get.

"I'm always careful," I shrug, feigning nonchalance despite my fear.

"You're literally  _ never _ careful," Carl counters with a chuckle, pulling me into a hug.

"I'm careful when I need to be," I bargain.

He and Michonne seem to accept this without any further arguments. I kiss Carl's cheek, which he tolerates  _ only _ because I'm heading into a death trap and he's not sure he'll see me again.

"Hold down the fort," I tell him, squeezing his hands. "Be safe."

He nods solemnly. How in the hell is he this old? I climb behind the wheel of the truck Rick and I are rolling up to the Sanctuary in, waiting for Rick while I puzzle over when exactly Carl started becoming more man than kid. He seemed so little. I find myself idly stroking my belly, lost in thought.

"You ready?" Rick questions, startling me as he slips into the passenger seat.

"Yeah," I murmur, dropping my hand from my belly and starting the truck.

Gabriel's leading our convoy in the RV we'd rigged to blow when the time's right, Rick and I just behind him. Everyone's following behind us, about a dozen armored trucks and cars filled with soldiers. Survivors. Abraham would've loved this.

"You know…" Rick sighs, side eyeing me. "I just don't think you are. Ready. I don't think you've got the  _ stomach _ for it. That… that fire in your  _ belly- _ "

"You know," I state flatly, eyes on the road.

"I know," he confirms.

"Daryl tell you?" I question, his name like sandpaper across my tongue. "Carol?"

"No," he shakes his head. "No, I just… I just know."

I stay quiet, hoping he'll get the hint. I'm not happy about this. I don't  _ want _ a baby. I can't take care of a baby. I'm not like Maggie. I'm not ready to be a mom, I never wanted to be. Not really.

"You wanna talk about it?" He asks after a moment.

"No," I spit, harsher than I'd intended. "No,” I soften, sighing. “I just… I don't. I don't wanna think about it. Daryl sure as hell doesn't wanna talk about it."

"He'll come around, Adie," he says softly. "He will."

Yeah, maybe. But it's not looking likely.

"You know, when Lori first told me she was pregnant with Carl," he blurts, and when I glance at him his eyes are far away. "I was terrified. I'd just graduated the academy, hadn't so much as given out a parkin' ticket yet. I didn't think I was ready, didn't think… Sha- a friend took me out that night and I got drunk, just, just… I didn't know how to accept it, how to tell Lori how afraid I was. But I got over it. No one's ever ready to be a parent, nobody. And when, and when, when Lori died, I couldn't, I  _ couldn't… _ you. You and Daryl stepped up. Not just with the baby, but with Carl, too. I couldn't. You're more ready than you think. Daryl, too. I  _ promise _ you, you are."

I'm speechless. That doesn't happen often, but I can't find words. He hasn't talked about what happened to Lori in a long time and I don't know how to respond. Daryl. Daryl had stepped up. He always has, when it came down to it. That day had been hell. We lost so much… Lori, T-Dog, we thought we'd lost Carol. Carl lost his mom. Without Daryl, Judith wouldn't have made it. And when he and Maggie came back, when he'd taken that baby into his arms… the look on his face. Maybe… maybe this baby isn't the end of the world. I still don't feel ready. But maybe I could be.

"I'm callin' your kid Ass Kicker for the first six months," Rick informs me when I remain silent. "It's only fair."

This catches me by surprise and I laugh, feeling ten tons lighter.

"Fine," I concede. "But Rick Junior or Rickette… not happenin'."

"How much time do I have to sway you on that?"

"By my best guess?" I pretend to think about it. "Not enough."

"Yeah, we'll see," he chuckles.

"Two months," I tell him seriously. "I think that's about how far along I am. I should've noticed missin' my period, should've realized sooner."

"Yeah," he agrees sarcastically. "It's not like you were doin' anything else. What the hell's wrong with you?"

"Shut up," I grin, coming to a halt behind Gabriel's glowing brake lights. "And get out. Watchpost is just ahead, we go any further we'll be spotted."

With that, he hops from the truck. If Daryl and Morgan did their part, and I suspect they did, this guy's our last watchman. It takes Rick all of ten minutes to get to the post and dispatch the Savior. Gabriel puts the RV back in drive and our convoy slowly creeps forward. Rick hurls himself back into the truck and we're off down the road again. It's time. We pull into a field, all of us exiting our vehicles and milling about while we wait for Rick's signal.

"You two up to this?" Rick questions, eyeing Maggie and I in turn, the three of us standing in a circle with Jesus and Ezekiel.

"Mhmm," I grunt, avoiding Jesus's questioning gaze.

"I got the Hilltop to stand against the Saviors," Maggie says firmly. "I need to be there. At least for the first part. They say you can wage war through the second trimester."

"No one says that," I scoff, Maggie and Rick chuckling.

"I've been fightin' since the farm," she continues. "Can't stop now."

"How 'bout tomorrow?" Rick questions.

"You been thinkin' about what that looks like?" She asks, grinning.

"Yes, I have," Rick assures her, all joking aside. "I don't know if I can wait for it."

"Just one more fight," Maggie says confidently. "And I'm gonna be there. At least for the first part."

"I'm told the Hilltop lost their doctor," Ezekiel announces. "An obstetrician, no less. We have a doctor in the Kingdom. A woman of talent. Join us."

"We'll get ours back," Jesus points out happily.

"Yes, Jesus," Ezekiel laughs. "Yes, you will. As sure as the day defeats the night. And on this day, we begin to reshape this world for your child and the children to come. So let's get started."

With that, the King stalks off to begin gathering the troops. I hang back, unsure what the hell to be doing. Reshape the world for the children to come. Well, then, fetus. I guess we're really messing with the new world order now, huh?

"When did you find out?" Jesus questions, sidling up to me.

"Find what out?" I counter.

He just eyes me warily. I sigh, defeated.

"A couple days ago," I mutter. "Please keep it quiet. I dunno how I feel about it yet and I  _ really _ don't want it to be common knowledge."

"Keep what quiet?" He winks, looping his arm through mine and leading me back to the truck.

Sly bastard.

*Daryl's POV*

"Here we go," Tara mutters around the twizzler hanging from her mouth, glancing at her watch.

We're in place on the highway. She, Carol, Morgan, and me. It's our job to lead that pack of dead assholes to the Sanctuary. Right to Adie. I swallow the guilt. I can't think about that, not now. She's gonna get out, she knows what she's doing. Rick, Maggie, Jesus, they ain't gonna let nothin' happen to her. Just gotta get through this.

"Ten…"

Tara starts the countdown.

"Have you talked to Adie?" Carol murmurs.

I'd gone to her last night. Turns out she already knew. She and Maggie had been with Adie when she took the test. I was pissed at first, but I guess it ain't like I was there. I'd left to get that message to Dwight. And the way I reacted last night… well, it's probably a good thing I  _ wasn't _ there. Jesus, I'm an asshole.

"Nah," I grunt. "Left first thing this mornin', didn't have time."

"Bullshit," Carol shakes her head.

She leaves it at that. She's right, she knows it, she knows I know it, and she don't need to say nothin' else.

"Six… five… four… three… two… one," Tara finishes.

We're squinting into the distance. They ain't coming. Where the hell are they? Christ, this plan only works if we get that herd to Negan.

"Shit," Tara mutters.

Yeah, shit. But wait… no, they're coming. I can hear 'em.

"Nah," I point to the walkers just shambling into view. "There."

Timing was off, but only by a couple seconds. Just means we got here faster than we'd planned. We're good.

"Okay," Tara nods. "Close enough."

"All right, let's go," I say, climbing onto my bike and revving the engine.

Tara, Carol, and Morgan haul ass to their car and the four of us speed towards our next point. About halfway to the Sanctuary. We pull over and set the trip wires. We're burning through damn near all of our explosives today. This shit better work. The four of us tear onto a skywalk above the road. We got a good vantage point here, we'll see anything coming a half mile out.

"How close are we?" Carol questions.

"Close," I tell her, nodding at the smokestacks in the distance.

Sanctuary. That's bullshit. That place is hell on earth.

*Adrienne's POV*

So this is the Sanctuary. I hadn't seen it before. It's an old industrial building of some sort, several stories high. Negan's a piece of shit, but he's not stupid. This place is just as good as the prison had been. Fences, concrete walls, plenty of sightlines. Smart. Still, it's not impenetrable. We roll right in and get into position. Rick is coddling me. Normally he'd have me bring up the rear, but today… he's not letting me leave his side. Still, I can't complain.

Maggie throws an arm up. That's the signal. Guns to the sky. There's a clattering of sound, each of us cocking our weapons as we wait for the next signal. Maggie's arm drops and we fire. One, two, three, four shots each, all in sync. Now we wait. And we wait. Eventually, Negan does grace us with his presence. Cocky as ever, he steps into view.

"Well, shit," he chuckles, eyeing the scene.

We're all hidden behind the cars, the metal plates on the sides lining up almost perfectly, with a couple easily avoided spaces for us to see through. We have cover. We have plenty of ammo. And we have a herd on the way. We're not leaving. Not yet. His people are gonna surrender… or they're gonna die.

"I'm sorry," Negan continues as his dipshit minions assemble behind him. "I was in a meeting."

Simon. Dwight, who I guess at this point in time is actually  _ our _ dipshit minion. A woman I don't recognize, and a man I've never seen before but am pretty sure is Gavin, the Savior in charge of collecting the drops from Ezekiel and his people. And Eugene. I feel a small burst of vindictive satisfaction when I see the bandage on Negan's hand. He's still able to grip that damn bat, but I'd be willing to bet it hurts like a son of a bitch.

"I see you got your little fuckin' mudflaps with you," he observes. "So, I'm not exactly feelin' a reason for us to try throwin' lead at each other. I  _ care _ about my people. I don't wanna just march them into the line of fire because I wanna play my dick is bigger than yours. It is. We both know it. But… I'm also comfortable enough to accept the fact if it wasn't. I'm certainly not gonna let my people  _ die _ over that shit… like you're about to. So, Rick. What the hell can I do for you?"

"Dwight," Rick says firmly, pointing from Dwight to the rest of the cronies in turn. "Your name's Simon. You're Gavin. And you?"

He points to the woman.

"Regina," she sighs, glaring.

"Rick, I'd feel remiss if-" Eugene starts.

"No," Rick cuts him off. "I know who  _ you _ are. Listen… you five. The Saviors inside. All of you have a chance to survive here. To survive this. Y'all can live if you surrender. Can't guarantee it any time but now.  _ Right _ now."

None of them are backing down. It doesn't matter. I don't care if they  _ all _ die. I don't give a damn as long as my people,  _ my  _ family… as long as they're safe.

"So they surrender…" Negan muses. "And you 'n your little piss patrol doesn't kill 'em? That sounds like a  _ good _ fuckin' deal! What about me, Rick?"

"I told you," Rick snarls. " _ Twice. _ You know what's gonna happen."

"I do," Negan concedes. "I  _ do  _ know what's gonna happen. You don't. You have  _ no  _ idea the shit that's about to go down. Let me ask you somethin', Rick. You think you have the numbers for this fight? You don't. Simon?"

Oh, for Christ's sake. We should've guessed. Gregory. Power hungry fucking bastard. He saw Maggie gaining favor with his people and came here to bargain with Negan. Fuckin' dumbass.

"Of course that's where he went," Jesus murmurs, rolling his eyes.

"It doesn't matter," I hiss. "It makes no difference. Not him, not Eugene."

"What do you have to say to Rick and the piss patrol, Gregory?" Negan questions, relishing in what he thinks is victory.

"The Hilltop stands with Negan and the Saviors," Gregory announces. "Any resident of the Hilltop who takes up arms or who supports this ultimatum against the Sanctuary or any of the Saviors, for that matter… they will no longer be welcome in the colony."

"And?" Negan prompts, arm around Gregory's shoulders.

"Their families will be thrown out and will be left to fend for themselves," Gregory adds.

" _ And? _ " Negan repeats, patting his new pet on the shoulder and backing away.

"Go home now!" Gregory orders. "Or you won't have a home to go back to."

He smiles, satisfied with his performance. This dumb asshole. He doesn't lead the Hilltop anymore. He's bargaining with shit he no longer owns.

"You do what you need to do," Maggie murmurs, eyeing her people.

None of them back down.

"All I have at the Hilltop are a bunch of books and an old lobster bib," Jesus points out.

"Why the hell do you have an old lobster bib?" I hiss, momentarily distracted.

"It's personal," Jesus smirks.

"You heard the man," Negan shouts. "Go back to separatin' wheat and shit, or whatever the fuck it is you people do."

"Doesn't look like anyone's goin', does it?" Maggie calls, swelling with pride at the loyalty of her people.

"Hilltop stands with-" Gregory starts.

"The Hilltop stands with Maggie!" Jesus roars.

"Suck it, Craig!" I holler, unable to contain myself.

I never could. Rick shoots me a look, but I know he doesn't really mind. We're gonna win.

"I feel…" Simon snaps, grabbing Gregory by the shoulder and walking him backwards towards the stairs. "Like I invested a lot in you, and I am  _ very  _ disappointed."

He shoves him from the platform. Good. I hope it hurt. Before any more speeches can be made, something explodes in the distance. Daryl. And Tara, Carol, and Morgan. They'd done it. This is just the first of many explosions to come. The herd is coming.


	94. From There to Here

**Chapter 94**

*Daryl's POV*

"Shit," Tara groans, eyeing a single walker stumbling just a little too close to our wires. "Could that thing set it off?"

"I got it," Morgan assures us.

He tears down the stairs, dispatching the walker in under 30 seconds. He don't have time to get back up here, though, not before Negan's men are on us. We knew they were coming. They had to investigate the SUV we'd blown up on the street. We'd been counting on it. Morgan ducks for cover behind a dumpster just as two cars and four motorcycles come speeding toward us. They trip the wire and go up in flames, as planned.

*Adrienne's POV*

Shortly after the explosion, we could hear them. The walkers. The herd is at least a couple hundred strong. They're coming and it's time for us to go.

"Sounds like shit is goin' down, Rick," Negan observes, having lost a bit of his previous enthusiasm.

"You lieutenants," Rick barks, addressing the lackeys. "You're gonna have to make up your minds."

"Maybe we could take a time-out here-" Gavin starts.

"No," Rick says firmly. "This has to happen  _ now. _ This is the  _ only _ way."

Still, no one surrenders. Negan's demeanor has soured pretty significantly, though, and I can't say I'm not enjoying that fact immensely.

"You're gonna make me count?" Rick chuckles, more than a little vindictive. "Okay. Okay. I'm  _ counting. _ Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven!"

That's as far as he gets before deviating from the plan. He cocks his weapon and starts firing. It's about damn time. Negan and his cronies take cover in the building, but we aren't aiming for them. No… we're aiming for doors, windows. We're gonna open this place right up.

*Daryl's POV*

"It's started," Carol observes, listening to the gunfire in the distance.

We've met back at our vehicles. Tara and Morgan are gonna take the van. Carol's gonna circle back and get ready to take on the outposts. I still got shit to do.

"Yeah," I mutter, taking a seat on my bike. "It was always gon' be that way."

"Pleasure doing business with you," Tara smirks, ducking into the van.

"Beat 'em," Morgan says, following suit.

"We will." Carol promises, turning to hug me. "Be  _ careful. _ "

"Ah, shit, this is gon' be fun," I grunt, trying to reassure her.

"No, it isn't," she counters, eyeing the herd as it approaches.

"It's better 'n lettin' things be, though, right?" I question.

"Yeah," she agrees sadly. "It is."

Then she walks away and it's time. I double check the revolver I'd pilfered off the dead Savior. Seven rounds. Just gotta wait on the signal. They're gonna lay on their horns when it's time. I'm ready. I just hope Adie is, too. She needs to get the hell outta there before this herd blows through.

*Adrienne's POV*

"Now!" Maggie roars.

It's time to move. Several of us hurl themselves into the cars, laying on the horns. Daryl's signal to get going. He's leading the herd, blowing up our bombs to keep 'em coming our way. Rick motions for me to follow him, the two of us still spraying bullets into the Sanctuary. We're heading for the truck but then… Negan. Negan's back out here, scrambling for cover. We could take him down now. We don't have to wait. Rick glances at me questioningly. I nod, and we fire.

*Daryl's POV*

I ain't gonna lie, this  _ is  _ fun. Riding a bike and blowing shit up… there ain't better therapy in the world. Not before and sure as hell not now. This is the last step before I can see Adie again. Almost there. I give the bike a little more gas.

*Adrienne's POV*

Even over the gunfire and the screaming and the chaos, I can hear the explosives going off, each one closer than the next. That means Daryl's alive, still moving. Gabriel's backed the RV up to Negan's gates, and he comes flying out a side window just before the thing blows. That herd is gonna stroll right in. Walkers as weapons. Thanks for the idea, Dad. Best thing you ever did.

With the gates down, it's time to get the hell outta here. But Rick's still shooting at Negan. He won't let it go, and honestly… I don't want to, either. But we can't stay here. Negan might not be dead, but he's not going anywhere. We need to take out his outposts before they send help.

"Rick!" Gabriel roars. "He's not going anywhere!"

"Rick!" I holler. "Rick!"

Rick's not listening. Rick's not listening and the walkers are here.

"Rick!" I cry. "Rick, we gotta go!"

"Rick!" Gabriel snaps, grabbing him by the arm. "We have to leave now! It's not about you, right? Not about you. Come on."

Rick snaps out of it, snatching the camera from our truck and taking a quick photo. This is history. Milton, my dad's lackey, had kept meticulous records. Someday, this is all gonna be nothing but pictures in a boring textbook. Rick takes my hand and pulls me into the truck, revving the engine and peeling out of here. We thought Gabriel was right behind us.

He wasn't.

*Daryl's POV*

Adrienne and Rick are the last to arrive at the meeting point. The only one missing is Gabriel, and I know it's shitty but… I'm still glad it ain't Adie. She flings herself from the truck before it even stops moving, hurtling into my arms. Neither of us say nothin', but it's understood. We're both alive. We still have time. We're gonna talk about our shit, just not yet. We got more immediate problems. I kiss the top of her head, then leave her with the bike so I can find Rick and reign him in.

"We can wait some more," I blurt weakly, eyeing him while he watches the road.

I know we can't. We wait too long and this whole thing crumbles around us. We gotta get to that outpost.

"We can't," he says flatly. "He stopped to get me. Him and Adie."

Stopped to get him? How the hell did that happen? The plan was to keep moving, no stopping, no matter what.

"How's that?" I question.

"Negan," he sighs. "He was on the ground. I was tryin' to kill 'im and… Adie and Gabriel stopped to get me. We gotta start out."

"You all right?" I ask him, knowing damn well he ain't.

"This isn't about me," he sighs with a mirthless chuckle. "Let's go."

"Yeah," I mutter.

He's right. It ain't about him. It's about Negan. It's about all of us fighting to own our lives again. I whistle, motioning for our group to move out. We gotta keep going. No matter what.

*Adrienne's POV*

Daryl doesn't protest when I climb on the back of his bike. I'm not letting him go again until I have to. I don't think he wants me to. We still very well could die. We've got numbers, but we've never seen this outpost. The Shapiro office plaza. It could be twenty men. It could be fifty or more. Heavily armed, probably expecting us. I'm sure someone at the Sanctuary has radioed a warning.

The building is large, about the same size as the outpost we'd taken out last time. There's a single guard posted in a booth outside, watching over the gate. We pull over about a quarter mile away. We can see them, but they can't see us. There are at least a dozen Saviors milling about in a courtyard just inside the gate. Rick climbs out of one of the cars.

"You ready?" He questions, not waiting for a response as we fall into formation.

Rick covers Daryl, they both cover me. Daryl doesn't like it, but I'm smaller and faster than both of them, therefore a more difficult target. Which means I'm on gate duty. As the two of them dispatch the guard, I sprint towards the gate. The second I start pulling it open, our cars begin to move. Five of them in total. Our people. Aaron, Eric, Tobin and the others are meant to serve as one hell of a distraction while Daryl, Rick, three other Alexandrians and I slip in the back.

The gunfire starts. That's our cue to move. We round the building. Two guards at the back doors. Suppressors aren't exactly common finds these days and I'm the only one who has one, so I fire. Twice. Two silenced rounds, one for each guard. And we're in. We move through the building. It's clean, not a Savior in sight. Not yet. This place isn't like the other. The other outpost was dark, dingy, all concrete walls and dim lights. This building… light, open, pristine white walls. It's unsettling.

"You signal if they're already inside," Rick orders, the six of us stopping to split up into teams of three. "We'll be there."

Our three companions nod and spread out to work the basement. Rick nods at Daryl and I.

"Come on," Daryl mutters. "Let's find them guns."

The three of us split up, taking separate hallways. We need to find the armory. We take their guns, we take them. I make my way down the hallway, checking each room as I go. Nothing. Old offices turned into living spaces, a maintenance closet, a couple bathrooms. No guns. Shit. I round a corner into a large lobby. Rick's already here, and he whips around, aiming his gun at my face.

"I surrender," I smirk grimly.

He relaxes momentarily, but then another figure emerges from the hallway that parallels the one I'd cleared and Rick and I both whirl around and aim for the new threat.

"Ain't on this floor," Daryl grunts, the two of us lowering our weapons.

"So we take the stairs," I suggest, gesturing at a set of double doors marked stairs. "It's where I'd put 'em."

"High ground," he considers. "Good cover."

"Yeah, I'd put 'em up there, too," Rick agrees. 

Daryl moves to open the door to the stairwell. Unsurprisingly, it's locked. It doesn't matter. We'll get in. We didn't come this far to be foiled by a locked door. Daryl starts kicking at it. Impatient. I crouch down beside the lock.

"Watch my head," I tell him over my shoulder, wedging my machete into the door jamb and slipping one of my slimmer knives into the lock.

Between Daryl's kicking and my fiddling with the lock, the deadbolt breaks. We're in. The three of us tear up the stairs to the second floor. Nothing. More bedrooms, bathrooms. Useless. The third floor is more or less the same, but with one little complication. The stairs have been destroyed. We can't get to the fourth floor. The last floor. The guns have to be there, it's the only place we haven't checked. I have an idea though.

-

"No," Rick says flatly. "I don't think someone in your  _ condition _ should be climbing around an elevator shaft."

"My  _ condition, _ " I snarl. "Is gonna be  _ dead _ if we don't get to those guns. You tell me if you have a better idea."

He doesn't. The three of us climb into the elevator. Conveniently, it's open and on the third floor. Probably for this reason, now I think about it. Daryl boosts me up through the door at the top of the elevator car, then Rick. Then Rick and I help Daryl up. It's only the third floor but, looking over the side of the car and into the darkness below, it might as well be the thirtieth goddamn floor.

I swallow my nerves and follow Daryl up the metal rungs bolted into the concrete wall, Rick just behind me, ready to catch me if I fall. It's sweet. Stupid, but sweet. Daryl reaches the top of the ladder and pries open the elevator doors at the fourth floor. He slides his crossbow onto the floor and hoists himself up into the hallway, turning to assist me. I take his hand and allow him to pull me through. He turns to help Rick up, and we're moving again. I fight the urge to stick my tongue out at Rick. But I told him so.

"Last floor," he says breathlessly. "The guns've gotta be up here."

"He said they'd be here," Daryl points out.

Dwight had managed to sneak a sheaf of papers to Daryl, all of them detailing exactly where the watchmen would be, where the outposts are, what to expect at each one. Part of me feels some sympathy for the man. Then I remember what he put Daryl through. Daryl won't talk about it much, but he came back to me beat to hell. They wouldn't let him sleep, kept him awake around the clock with some godawful song called Easy Street. They fed him, but even that was just to humiliate him. Canned dog food on bread. But he never broke. Dwight did.

"Everything else he passed you is checkin' out," Rick nods.

"That guy's a piece of shit," Daryl huffs, lip trembling.

Rick might not notice it, but I do. What Dwight put Daryl through… he  _ tortured _ him. Nothing he does to help us now will atone for that. He's gonna die. Daryl might be swayed, might change his mind about that. But Daryl's a better person than I am. Soon as Dwight ceases to be useful… he's a dead man.

"Those guns get to the Sanctuary, they could cut through those walkers and free up an exit," Rick points out.

"It'll be faster if we split up," I suggest. "One of us finds the M2s, we use 'em now, take down that courtyard and get our people outta here."

"End this quick," Daryl agrees.

We split up, each taking a different hallway. We're ending this.

*Daryl's POV*

I hate that she's here. I hate that keeping her home, keeping her safe ain't an option. She should be home with her feet up, eating pickles and fuckin' peanut butter or whatever the hell else them cravings are. Whatever she wants, I'll find it for her. She shouldn't be here, putting her body through this kind of stress, worrying about fascist assholes with automatic weapons lurking around every goddamn corner.

My train of thought is interrupted when I push open a door and take in a scene I know all too well. Concrete walls and floor. Handcuffs hanging from an exposed pipe. Vomit and human waste, the remains of Negan's dog food special on the floor. They kept people here. Tortured people here. They're all the same, every single one of 'em.

I turn my back and walk away. This ain't gonna happen to anyone else ever again. It ends today. And that's why, even when I hear gunshots that are too damn close, I keep moving. Keep looking for the guns. Trust that those bullets belong to Adie or Rick and that they can take care of themselves.

*Adrienne's POV*

I haven't found a goddamn thing. The guns have to be here. Why the hell would Dwight lie now, this far in? He's with us. I trust that much. Which means the guns are better hidden than he knew or… or Negan knows he's got a rat and had them moved. I'm hoping for the former. We can't use Dwight if Negan kills him. Suddenly, two gunshots ring out. Close. Too close. I can hear the struggle, at least two men, coming from the direction Rick had gone in. Shit.

Still, I have to keep moving. Trust that he can fend for himself and finish the job we came here to do. I swallow my worry and finish sweeping my section before turning back to find Rick. It's silent now, the fight long over. I quietly make my way down the hallway, ducking into each room, each one empty. No Rick. But this room… I step inside, drawn to the photo tucked into the framed mirror atop a wooden dresser. I know these people. Morales, his wife, his kids… they'd split after the massacre at the Atlanta camp. Chose to go find their relatives in Birmingham over coming with us to the CDC.

"Shit," Rick murmurs, startling me as he leans over my shoulder and looks at the picture.

But we're not alone.

"Keep your hands down," a familiar voice orders quietly. "Turn around slow."

Rick and I exchange a glance and do as we're told. Rick angles his body slightly in front of mine while we turn, shielding me as we stare at a man we both recognize. The man from the photo. He's supposed to be in Birmingham. His wife, his kids… they're all  _ supposed _ to be in Birmingham. How the hell…

"Hi, Rick," Morales says heavily, gun unwavering. "Adie."

"Your name… is Morales," Rick murmurs, disbelief lacing his tone. "You were in Atlanta."

"That was a long time ago," Morales sniffs, and I wonder what he's lost in the time since we'd last seen him to make him so much… colder. "It's over."

He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a long range radio.

"I called the Saviors back," he informs us, dropping the walkie to the floor. "And they're coming."

Of course they are. We knew this was a possibility. We'd just planned on finding the big guns before they got here.

"You gonna shoot us, Morales?" I question softly, eyeing the familiar stranger.

"Guns down," he orders, cocking his own weapon. "Now."

We have no choice. Cooperate or die. Make him  _ believe _ we're cooperating… or die. Rick and I crouch down, laying our guns on the floor at our feet before slowly rising.

"So, you're the Rick from Alexandria," Morales sighs heavily, voice strained with emotion.

Fear? Hatred? Sadness? I can't tell.

"This whole time, it was you," he continues.

"You called your men in for nothin'," Rick points out. "The fight's out there, it's just me and Adrienne in here."

"Did you hear what I just said?" Morales demands. "I know who you are. I saw it in the mirror through the open door. And it wasn't any kind of blast from the past. As soon as I saw you... I knew you'd both made the same trip as me. From there to here."

He scoffs, eyes flickering between Rick's face and mine. This man… we'd fought together. Buried friends together. I'd held his children when they cried, rejoiced with them when they laughed. Held his wife's hand while she worried over how the hell we were gonna keep her babies fed.

"Shit, well…" he sighs. "Well, I guess we aren't the same people we used to be, huh? 'Cause you… you're monsters. I called them back 'cause you're a prize, Rick. We've been told. We don't kill you, the Widow, or the King… not if we don't have to."

His sharp eyes land on me. I'm not safe here.

"Don't," Rick barks, then softens. "Don't. She's pregnant. You kill her… you're a monster, too. Just like me."

Morales drops his gaze to my stomach, assessing. I don't look pregnant. Rick could be bluffing. Still, he doesn't shoot. But the threat is understood.

"Why are you here, Rick?" Morales questions. "I know you… just like before. You're always the guy willing to rush in. But why? What is it you're looking for?"

Rick remains silent, willing me to do the same. He doesn't need to tell me. I know. I'm not safe here. And neither is Daryl.

"Nothing to say, huh?" Morales sneers. "Unusual for you, Adie. It doesn't matter. Not anymore. Not for you two… or anyone else you brought in here. 'Cause what's left of my people? They're coming. And we'll get you to Negan. Or we won't. Either way, we're gonna settle your shit, Peaches."

"Is your family here?" Rick questions, trying to connect with our old friend.

It's not gonna work. The man we knew in Atlanta… he's not the man in front of us now. We've all changed.

"We never made it to Birmingham," Morales admits, his gun lowering just slightly. "They didn't."

No… no, they were supposed to be safe. My god…

"Morales," I breathe, watching his eyes soften. "I'm so sorry."

"Really, Adie?" He snaps, sneer back in place.

"I am," I tell him softly. " _ We _ are."

"We lost people, too," Rick nods. "Lori. Shane. Andrea. Glenn…  _ Negan _ killed him. Forced him to his knees. Bashed his head in right in front of us _.  _ In front of his _ pregnant wife." _

"You?" Morales questions, eyeing me confusedly. "You’re the Widow? You guys got married?"

"Not me," I whisper, tears falling from my eyes as the images from that night play in my head.

"He had a wife?" Morales asks, still puzzled.

"Not before," Rick tells him. "He met her."

"In  _ this? _ " Morales demands.

"Yeah," Rick confirms. "In this. She's the Widow. Are you Negan, too?"

"I lost my family," Morales spits, his gun aimed once more at my head. "I lost my  _ mind. _ I was in some… tow trailer, sleeping myself to death. Waiting to become nothing. And the Saviors… they found me. They thought  _ I  _ was worth a damn. Worth bringing back with 'em. So, yeah. Yeah, I'm Negan. To make it this far, this long… I had to be. I had to be something. Just like you."

"Did you watch?" I hiss, unable to stop my lip from curling in disgust. "When he beat people to death, when he  _ tortured _ people for  _ nothin'? _ Did you  _ watch? _ "

He says nothing, just eyes me coldly. He watched. He's one of them.

"We're not the same," Rick says.

"How's that?" Morales scoffs.

"Well, look at you," Rick hisses, gesturing vaguely at him.

"Look at  _ me? _ " Morales demands. "Look at  _ us, _ Rick. Look at Adie. We're three assholes who'll do whatever we have to just to keep going. And the only difference is… I'm the one holding the gun. That doesn't make me any worse than you, Rick. That just makes me luckier. 'Cause let's face it, if it wasn't me? If it was you holding the gun? I'd be brains out on the floor right now."

"You don't know that," Rick counters.

"Oh, and you do?" Morales argues. "Huh?"

"I  _ know _ I wouldn't want to," Rick tells him calmly. 

"Come on," Morales scoffs. "Is that the best you can do?"

"I'd… I'd at least try to find another way," Rick stammers.

"Yeah?" Morales snaps. "Why? 'Cause we knew each other for a few days back at the start?"

"Look, I know," Rick pleads. "I, I wouldn't, I wouldn't just-"

"You wanna know what I think?" Morales interrupts. "I think you can talk all you want. You can say all the words. Lori, Shane, Andrea, Glenn…"

"Jim," I spit. "Jacqui. Sophia, Dale, T-Dog, Merle. You  _ knew  _ them, Morales, and for more than just a few days."

"They're all dead," he hisses. "And somewhere along the way, Officer Friendly here died right along with 'em. Just like I did with  _ them. _ That's what I know. Now, Negan wants you alive, Rick. But Adie?"

Whatever he was gonna follow that with, he doesn't get the chance.

"Wait, no!" Rick cries, Morales whirling around as Daryl appears in the doorway, firing an arrow through his head.

"You good?" He questions, eyes flickering between me and Rick.

"I'm fine," I mutter, stepping towards the body and pulling the bolt from Morales' eye socket.

"That, that was, that was…" Rick stammers, shocked.

"I know who it was," Daryl tells him, taking the arrow from my hands and assessing me for damage before turning back to Rick. "It don't matter. Not one little bit. You find them guns?"

The three of us look at each other. If Daryl doesn't have the guns…

"Christ," I hiss, raking my hands through my hair. "I didn't find 'em. Neither of you found 'em. I don't think they're here."

"They  _ aren't _ here," Rick agrees.

"What?" Daryl demands as Rick and I drop to our knees, collecting our guns.

"He called the Saviors back from the courtyard," Rick informs him. "We gotta get out before-"

But it's too late. They're back, coming for us. We're outnumbered.

"They're here," Rick sighs.

We're running again, Daryl in the lead, Rick bringing up the rear. Protecting me. God damn it, Fetus, they're protecting  _ you. _ You're the luckiest clump of cells in the world, you know that?

"Clear," Daryl grunts, a second too soon.

Gunfire erupts at the end of the hallway. Daryl yanks me into an alcove, Rick just behind me. It doesn't matter, they're on both ends of the hallway now. We make a run for it, firing into the Saviors, each ducking into empty rooms. Separated. Again. Daryl's in the room across the hall from mine, Rick having taken shelter in the next room over. We don't have the bullets for this.

Still, we don't have a choice. So we fire, Rick into one end of the hallway, Daryl and I into the other. We gun down a few of them, and it's starting to feel like we might actually make it out of this when Daryl curses, flattening himself against the wall in his room. He's out of bullets.

"Hey!" He hollers, getting Rick's attention over the chaos. "Hey! I'm out."

Shit. They're getting closer, ducking in and out of rooms as they approach from both ends of the hallway. We need something… the fire extinguisher.

"Rick!" I snarl, pointing at the extinguisher hanging from the wall across from his room and hoping he gets it.

He does. He fires a single round into the red canister and the hallway is almost immediately engulfed in a thick, white fog. I can't see my boys, but I have to run anyway. Trust them. I holster my gun and hurl myself into the hallway, yanking my machete from its sheath and bringing it down on the skull of the nearest Savior. No use wasting bullets trying to hit moving targets I can't fucking see.

*Daryl's POV*

I can't see Adie. Jesus Christ, this was supposed to be simple. When this is over, she's staying home. I can't have her out here where I can't protect her. I know she'd be pissed at this whole train of thought, tell me she can take care of her damn self, and I know that. I know she can. But so could our dead friends.

I run into Rick next to the elevators and, without so much as a glance, we grab hold of the nearest Savior and fling him into the elevator shaft. We repeat the same motion three, four more times before it's quiet. We got 'em all, they ain't firing anymore.

"Teams of four, sweep the offices!" Aaron hollers, he and the others now filtering into the hallway.

"Aaron!" Rick calls.

"Rick!"

"We're by the elevator, but we lost Adie!" Rick shouts.

"You didn't," Aaron announces, stepping out of the fog with Adie beside him.

"I'm fine," she assures me before I can ask about the blood coating her arms. "I'm okay."

Jesus. Can't take her anywhere without her somehow ending up covered in blood. Every damn time. Still, she's okay. We're okay.

*Adrienne's POV*

Seven. We'd lost seven of our people. Eric… Eric's a walker. Aaron couldn't do it. He couldn't put him down. He collapses into me and I just hold him. There's nothing to say. Daryl catches my eye from across the courtyard and nods. I get it. As selfish as it is, as horrible a thought… we're grateful we still have each other. I stroke Aaron's hair, then pull away from him.

"We have to go," I murmur softly, tears welling in my eyes, watching my friend try to piece together where it all went wrong.

"I know," he says, taking a deep, shuddering breath. "I know."

Daryl reaches us about the same time Rick does, carrying the crying infant he'd taken from one of the rooms in the outpost. He'd killed her father, thought about leaving her there… but that's not who he is. We're gonna take care of her. Raise her.

"She was inside?" Tobin questions as Rick approaches.

"She was," Rick confirms. "Look, I have a… I have a stop to make and Daryl's got his bike. Maybe she can go back with you or Scott."

"She can go with me," Aaron chokes out. "I can, uh, take, take her to the Hilltop. She'll be safe there."

"Aaron…" Rick murmurs softly, moving closer to the bereft man. "You sure?"

"Eric and I were gonna go up…" Aaron whispers, new tears forming in his eyes. "We were gonna go there after and update Maggie. So… that's what I'm gonna do. Please. I have to."

Rick nods and passes the baby to Aaron, who looks down at her like she's already his own. Like she's giving him a reason to keep going.

"Her name's Gracie," Rick tells him.

"Come on," Daryl grunts, taking my hand in his.

We follow Rick back to where we'd left the Jeep and Daryl's bike.

"See you back home," Rick tells us, tossing the polaroids of today's history into his passenger seat and stowing his rifle in the back.

"Sure you wanna talk to them assholes alone?" Daryl questions.

"Yeah," Rick nods. "That's how it gets done."

"All right," Daryl concedes. "You're gone too long, I'm gon' come lookin' for you."

"That's the plan," Rick sighs.

We're finally leaving this place. Then a gunshot flies past me, close enough I can feel the air moving around it before it's buried in the side of the Jeep. Rick takes cover behind the car. Daryl and I lunge towards a concrete barricade and crouch low, waiting for more bullets. But they don't come. Whoever the hell shot at us stopped with just one shot. Why?

"Hey!" Rick hollers in the general direction from which the bullet came. "Hey! You're alone. You gotta be. There's not enough room for two of you behind that tree. And there's a herd comin'! I'm just sayin'. Hey, I tell you what… we'll make you a deal. You drop your gun and come on out, you tell us what we need to know. You do that, you can take a car. You go. You live. How 'bout it?"

"Why should I trust you?" A voice demands.

"'Cause I'm givin' you my word," Rick promises. "There's not a lot that's worth much these days, but a man's word… that's gotta mean somethin', right?"

"Okay," the voice stammers.

Shit. He's just a damn kid. He steps out from behind the tree, hands up. I rise, moving to follow Rick and Daryl towards the boy, but Daryl stops me.

"Stay here," he grunts, eyes dropping to my belly before flicking back to my face. "We got it."

I don't like it. I wonder if this is how Maggie feels now, everybody always trying to protect her instead of letting her help the same as everyone else. Make her own damn decisions. Still, I stay beside the barricade.

"What, what do you wanna know?" The kid questions nervously.

"You ever have any M2 Browning .50-caliber guns here?" Rick demands, lowering his gun.

"We did," the kid replies. "For a while."

"What happened to 'em?" Daryl snarls impatiently.

"They got sent to another outpost yesterday," the kid tells him, cowering under the threat of his gun.

"Which one?" Rick asks.

"It was Gavin's," the kid announces. "It's west of here."

Shit. Ezekiel, Carol, Jerry… the rest of the Kingdom. That's their outpost. They have no idea what they're walking into.

"Can I, uh…" the kid stammers, straightening up. "Can, can I go?"

Daryl fires. A single shot, right into the kid's head. Rick wasn't gonna do it. He really was gonna let him go. Jesus…

"Which team's at Gavin's?" Daryl demands.

"Ezekiel's," I tell him when Rick doesn't. "Carol's there."


	95. Did You Win?

**Chapter 95**

*Daryl's POV*

Adie's whiter than a goddamn ghost. Not that she's ever had much color. She's worried. Hell, she should be. If we don't get them guns in time, our people are dead and Sanctuary's as good as free.

"No," I hiss. "No. They ain't gettin' them guns. Come on."

Adie climbs into the back of the Jeep, most of our guns on the seat beside her. I hurl myself onto my bike and we're off, speeding west towards Gavin's outpost. It's only a few minutes, but it feels like eternity. We're almost there, we can see the gates, when another truck comes hurtling out onto the road. Two Saviors. They got the guns. I give the bike a little more gas. We're gonna chase the sumbitches down.

The second we're close enough, bullets start flying past me. Adie, peppering the back of the Saviors' car. I swerve to the side to give her more space to work with, pulling out my own gun. Then the back of the truck opens to reveal one of the Saviors. He's facing us, M2 nestled comfortably between his legs. God damn it. He starts cranking out bullets and I ain't got another choice. I swerve out of Rick's way, purposely crashing my bike at the embankment.

*Adrienne's POV*

"Motherfucker," I snarl, watching Daryl's bike go down.

He's okay. They didn't hit him. He's okay. He'll catch up. I climb up onto the passenger seat beside Rick, placing my rifle over the windshield and firing at the Savior manning the M2. I'm not hitting him, but I'm a hell of a distraction to the driver, who plows right into a group of walkers in the road. It's only a handful, but it's enough to slow him down some.

"Hold onto somethin'!" Rick hollers, and I grab the sides of my seat just as he swerves sharply, avoiding the bodies in the road.

Shit. Sorry about the turbulence, Fetus. At least you'll probably be well balanced. The Savior with the M2 starts cranking again, hitting something inside the Jeep. The radiator, maybe? Christ, I need to get Daryl to teach me about cars. Whatever the hell he hit, there's steam pouring from under the hood. Still, we're moving for now. And Daryl's back. We've worked in worse conditions. Rick swerves again, giving Daryl a clear shot at the Savior in the back. He doesn't miss. Now that we're not being shot at, Rick speeds up, desperately trying to get us right up next to the Saviors' truck so I can take out the driver. But the driver's not dumb, and he's not making it easy.

"I'm gonna go for the passenger side!" Rick informs me. "We're gonna lose the car. Soon as we're next to 'im, jump."

He's insane. But I trust him. I toss the rifle into the back seat. The last thing I need is to get caught on the strap and tumble into the damn road. Rick hits the gas one more time, one last burst of speed to get us riding sidecar with our Savior buddy. I climb into the seat behind Rick.

"Now!" He roars, letting go of the wheel.

We jump. I land hard in the back of the truck next to the dead Savior. I scramble up behind the driver, grabbing hold of his arms before he can get to his gun. Rick plunges his knife into the his stomach and the truck fishtails. I roll the Savior out of the seat, but it's too late. Rick doesn't have time to take his place. He grabs the wheel anyway, desperately trying to keep us on the road, but he overcorrects and we go barreling through the metal barricade and down the embankment.

*Daryl's POV*

No. No, no, no, no, why the hell would they do something this goddamn stupid? I watch the truck go over the embankment, flipping onto its side. No. No, I can't lose her. I can't. I bring the bike to a stop a few yards away from where they went over, leaning it against the metal barricade and tearing towards the wreck. I don't see her. I don't see either of them. They're dead, they're both dead and gone and what-

"What in the holy  _ fuck _ were you thinkin'?!" Adie sputters breathlessly, she and Rick limping up the embankment.

"Hey," Rick greets me.

They're both covered in dirt and scratches, moving like they're in a fair amount of pain, but they're alive. They're okay. I pull Adie into me and she relaxes against my chest, the three of us just standing there for a minute, just being grateful we're all alive.

"We got the guns," Rick points out weakly.

"You look like shit," I tell him, picking dead grass and leaves out of Adie's hair.

She shakes me off, turning to glare at the wrecked truck.

"Let's go see if this asshole's alive," Rick huffs, the three of us tromping on back to the driver we'd left on the road.

He is alive. Barely. He wouldn't've made it back to his people. When we kill him, it'll be out of mercy. Dumb prick don't deserve it.

"Your people… back in the chemical plant," Rick says, approaching the man struggling to inch his way across the road. "Did you win?"

The Savior seems to recognize the futility of his situation and rolls onto his back, looking up at Rick, Adie, and me as we assemble around him.

"No one did," he sighs.

"The hell's that supposed to mean?" I snap.

He just coughs, blood splattering from his mouth into his beard. He don't get to die until he answers the damn question. I press my foot against his shoulder, keeping him face up as I lean forward, gun level with his nose.

"The hell's that supposed to mean?" I repeat.

"Everyone's dead," he coughs.

"Bullshit," I hiss, not willing to believe them pricks took out  _ thirty _ of our people.

"There's no one else?" Rick demands. "You're the only one?"

"Me," the man grunts. "The King. The Axe Man."

"Jerry," Adie murmurs, almost to herself.

"Yeah, whatever," the man croaks. "And… a short-haired psycho lady."

"Carol," Adie breathes, sagging with relief before realizing the implications.

Carol's alive. Jerry. Ezekiel. Three of 'em.  _ Three _ of our people made it outta there alive. I watch her face fall as she puts it together.

"You did this," the Savior spits, breath becoming ragged. "My people…  _ your _ people… they're all gone."

I ain't gonna stand here and listen to this dying, self-righteous shithead. His people  _ deserved _ to die. Mine… my people are good people. And I ain't gonna let any more of 'em die.

*Adrienne's POV*

"Damn…" the dying Savior groans, literally taking his last breaths. "And now… me, too."

He's right. He's gone. I walk away, following several steps behind Daryl, content in leaving him to turn. Rick isn't, though. He drops to his knees beside the dead man and drives his knife through his skull before following me and Daryl back to the wreck.

"Hey," Daryl grunts, attempting to pull the M2s out of the overturned truck. "Gimme a hand with this."

Rick and I both move forward to help, but Rick holds me back.

"Not you, Adie," he murmurs. "You were supposed to be home hours ago. You're tired, your  _ body  _ is tired. Sit down."

"Jesus," I grumble, stepping aside. "Y'all act like I've never been tired before."

"You've never been  _ pregnant _ before," Rick counters, Daryl stiffening.

I just scowl.

"Got it?" Rick asks, turning towards Daryl and grabbing an end of a long, wooden box blocking the guns.

"Yeah," Daryl huffs, the two of them sliding the box from the back of the truck.

I crouch beside the box and pry off the lid. Explosives. A lot of 'em.

"We can use these now," Daryl suggests, pulling the bundled C4 from the box and carefully placing them inside an empty canvas backpack he'd pulled from the truck.

"What?" Rick questions.

"Well, think about it," Daryl explains. "There ain't no Kingdom no more."

"Yeah…" Rick says, not quite following.

"We know what we gotta do," Daryl announces. "We blow open the Sanctuary, let the walkers flood in. They'll surrender. It'll be done. Hell, we could end this shit by sundown."

"They'll surrender," I muse. "And some will die, but… blowin' the place open like that? A lot of 'em could get out."

"They have workers in there, right?" Rick questions. "Families, too. Are there?"

Daryl visibly deflates, but he's not ready to give up just yet.

"We'll hit the south side of the main building," he insists. "The workers live in the north side. They'll be up the stairs before the walkers even get in."

"What if they don't?" Rick counters. "There are people in there who aren't fighters. Doin' this could change that. Make 'em pick up guns and stand by the Saviors. And if the Saviors don't surrender, maybe  _ everyone _ fights us. And we don't have the Kingdom anymore. We're not doin' this."

Daryl's fuming.

"Nah," he shakes his head, then shoves Rick lightly away from him. " _ You  _ ain't doin' this."

He turns to walk away, and before I can decide whether or not to follow him, Rick's grabbing his shoulder.

"There's a  _ plan, _ " he hisses as Daryl whirls to face him. "And everyone's stickin' to it."

"Not everyone," Daryl snaps. "There's a lot of our people that're  _ dead, _ Rick. Things change, man. Take Adie home. I'm doin' this."

He turns again as if to walk away, then thinks of something else he needs to say.

"Negan and that other group?" He snarls. "This is on them. If people die… it's their fault,  _ not  _ ours."

"Daryl, we can't do this," Rick murmurs, watching Daryl walk away only to turn right back around again.

"And we got our own people to look after," Daryl glares, turning to walk away a third time.

"We're not doin' this," Rick snaps, following him.

"Jesus Christ…" I mutter, watching the fight unfold before me.

"Hey!" Rick barks at Daryl's retreating back. " _ I'm _ not lettin' you do this."

Rick grabs onto Daryl's shoulders, but this time when Daryl whirls back around, it's with his fist. He hurls a punch at Rick's face, and Rick goes down.

"This ain't your  _ choice! _ " he spits.

Rick springs to his feet and it's on. They're not holding back, either. They're gonna beat the shit out of each other. Even I know better than to get in the middle of this. I trudge my way back up to the road, snatching the lighter that had fallen from Daryl’s pocket in the scuffle on my way past, and drop to the ground, watching the two men I care about the very most on this godforsaken planet try to kill each other. Eventually, Rick manages to wrestle the bag of explosives from Daryl's hand, flinging it. I watch the bag arc over the Saviors' truck and land inches from the puddle of gasoline leaking from the fuel tank. I glance back towards the men still rolling around on the ground, then I make my decision.

I turn Daryl's zippo over in my hand. It's not his only one. I know he has a spare in the bag he keeps strapped to the bike, and there are two or three in our dresser back home. I sigh heavily, getting to my feet and shuffling halfway down the embankment. I flip the lighter open and, casting one last glare at my two idiots, fling the tiny, portable flame at the puddle. It ignites immediately, a roaring fire consuming its way through the fuel, and the truck for that matter, in seconds. I retreat back up the hill and stand on the road, watching as Rick, now in a chokehold, spots the flames.

"Daryl!" He rasps, wriggling from his grasp and scrambling away from the truck.

"Get up!" Daryl roars, yanking Rick to his feet.

The two of them dive for the underbrush just as the fuel tank explodes, the force of the blast knocking them both right back on their asses. They're still staring in quiet fury when the fire reaches the backpack, setting off several more explosions. Wasteful? Maybe. But effective. No dynamite, no separating. The fight's over. We're going the fuck home.

"Y'all done with your fuckin' boys’ll be boys moment?" I holler, two sets of eyes flickering to where I stand at the top of the embankment.

If I wasn't tired, hot, and madder than hell, the parade of identical expressions on their faces as they put the pieces together would be hilarious. Utter confusion, then understanding, and eventually, anger.

"You tried to blow us up?!" Daryl demands, beside himself.

"I didn't try to blow  _ you _ up," I correct. "I blew up the  _ truck. _ "

"Yeah?" He snaps, he and Rick getting to their feet and making their way towards me. "Well that's fuckin'  _ bullshit! _ "

"No, what's fuckin' bullshit is the two of you tryin' to beat the shit outta each other when we have people  _ waitin'  _ on us to come home!" I snarl. "So get your asses up here and let's go get our goddamn guns so we  _ can _ go home."

Daryl glowers at me, but I don't give a shit. He can be pissed all he wants. We're not gonna give the Saviors a chance to escape through a big ass hole in the wall. Yeah, some of them would die. But not all of them. Jesus, would it kill him to have a little bit of goddamn patience? Just once? He climbs onto his bike, looking anywhere but at me.

*Daryl's POV*

I could've told Adie the Jeep was a lost cause. Would've told her, if I fuckin' felt like  _ talking _ to her. She  _ blew up _ the explosive supply.  _ All _ of 'em. I thought she'd be on my damn side. She climbs out of the car with a sigh and kicks the tire in frustration.

"There's a plan," Rick says flatly, gathering our shit from the back of the Jeep. "We gotta see it through."

"We gotta win," I sigh, defeated.

"Yeah, we gotta," Rick agrees. "Choke hold's illegal, asshole."

"Mhmm," I grunt. "Yes, it is."

"Looks like I'm walkin'," he observes.

"Yep."

"I'll meet you when I'm done with the last play."

Adie slips onto the bike behind me, but she don't wrap her arms around me. I'm oddly hurt by it, despite still being pissed off. Maybe she ain't touching me 'cause she knows I'm pissed. What the hell am I supposed to do about that? Turn around and tell her hey, I want your arms around me even though I’m so fuckin’ pissed at you right now it’s making my  _ skin  _ itch? 

"You sure about doin' it?" I question.

"Yeah, I am," Rick nods.

He leaves, off to try and make a new deal with them junkyard assholes. I start the bike, engine roaring to life beneath me. Adie wraps her arms around my waist, tentative but secure. What a goddamn clusterfuck this day's turned into. Thanks to Adie, it ain't like we got any choice but to go home. Yeah, I'm pissed. Still. But every time her arms tighten around me, every second I spend with her chin resting on my shoulder… the anger fades. Redirects itself, at least. I know why she did it. Me and Rick… we were being stupid. But I'm right. I know I'm right. We gotta win. We gotta end this thing now before they get out.

*Adrienne's POV*

"Where are you going?" I demand.

We'd camped out in a rusted out SUV, having lost the light last night. Well.  _ I  _ camped out in a rusted out SUV. Daryl kept watch, despite my many, many,  _ many  _ protests. The roar of the bike's engine isn't exactly quiet and we didn't want to end up with a herd on our tail in the dark. We got home a couple hours after dawn. We haven't been back ten minutes and Daryl's beelining towards the infirmary.

"I ain't gon' sit here and wait for them Saviors to get out," he huffs, not breaking stride. "I'm gon' take Tara, take that truck, finish this."

The truck. We'd passed it on the way home. It's walking distance from our gates. Runs on diesel, so it's more than likely still got plenty of fuel.

"Daryl," I take his arm and he turns to face me. "Back there, with Rick… I  _ agree _ with you. Two days is too much time to wait. Every second they're trapped in there they get closer and closer to gettin' out."

"So why didn't you say nothin'?" He demands, still annoyed I'd blown the Saviors truck up yesterday.

Fair enough.

"Blowin' a hole in the side of the Sanctuary opens it up for walkers to get in," I explain. "But it also opens it up for the Saviors to fight their way out. Forces 'em into action. I want 'em  _ all _ dead, Daryl,  _ all _ of 'em. We need a better plan."

He nods, chewing his lip. Now that he and Rick aren't rolling around in a big cloud of dirt and testosterone, he realizes I'm right. We keep walking.

"We can't just blow shit up and leave," I continue. "We need to wait 'em out, pick 'em off at the gate. The walkers help, but you know as well as I do they're not a guarantee. So. We're gonna take that truck out-"

" _ We  _ ain't doin' nothin'," he says pointedly. "Me 'n Tara are doin' this, you ain't leavin' here."

"You can't stop me," I point out. "It's not your choice."

We've reached the infirmary. Denise's old house. When she died… well, Tara stayed. Daryl glares at the ground.

"Fine," he sighs heavily. "But you ain't leavin' the truck. You can shoot 'em from the damn window."

"Again, not up to you," I counter just as Tara steps onto the porch.

"Hey," she says, fist bumping me in greeting. "You just get back?"

"Yeah," Daryl confirms. "We were lookin' for you."

"I was lookin' for you, too," she rushes, eyeing him. "I wanted to tell you that you were right when you didn't kill Dwight. We wouldn't've gotten this far without him. The thing is, I know what you said. But after this…  _ I'm  _ gonna kill him. I want it to be me."

"Maybe it could be you 'n me both," Daryl suggests. "And maybe we don't gotta wait so long."

He fills Tara in and within minutes, she's agreed and we're on the road again. It's quiet with the exception of my chewing. We hadn't stopped to eat before we left, Daryl opting instead to toss a few apples, two stale granola bars, and a family sized can of tomato soup into a bag. We'd each eaten an apple and taken turns passing the soup can around until it was gone, but Tara and Daryl had insisted I take the granola bars. I'm gnawing my way through bar number two when I hear it.

"What the hell's that?" I question, motioning for Tara to roll down the window. "Do you hear that?"

"Yeah," Daryl says grimly, eyeing a building just down the road.

He speeds up, the music swelling to a near deafening crescendo as we pass in front of the building. Someone's having themselves a party in there, apparently.

"Daryl!" Tara cries, pointing.

But Daryl doesn't have time to let up. He rams right into the truck peeling out of the building, sending the speakers flying off the back. Well, at least the music is gone. Opera, some classically trained goat singing soprano. Awful.

"Stay inside," Daryl tells me as Tara squeezes past me to follow him out of the truck.

I scramble out behind her anyway. Like hell I'm just gonna sit here. Inexplicably, Michonne and Rosita are both here and I wanna know exactly what the hell they're doing out here and  _ not  _ at home healing. Daryl guns down the driver, examining the truck as Michonne and Rosita make their way towards us.

"Truck full of speakers, huh?" He huffs. "That was a Savior."

"Yeah, it was," Michonne confirms. "They were scavenging when you guys attacked the Sanctuary. They saw all the walkers around it." 

"What the hell is this place?" I question, squinting at the building.

"I told you to stay in the truck," Daryl growls, rounding on me.

"I know, I didn't," I tell him, ignoring his annoyance and addressing Michonne again. "What is this place?"

"It's a cache," she informs us. "They were gonna try and drive the walkers away. That's why they were out here."

"Which brings me to my next question-" I start.

"Why are you guys out here?" Tara blurts, finishing my sentence for me.

"I need to see the Sanctuary," Michonne says firmly.

"We both do," Rosita murmurs. "Why are  _ you  _ out here?"

"We got a lot more work to do," Daryl announces. "All of us."

-

This truck, we discover, is not built for five people. I find myself sandwiched between Daryl and Tara while we make the two and a half hour journey to a hillside near the Sanctuary. High ground, gives us a decent view through the scope from the sniper rifle. Hell, even without the scope… we can see clearly from here the walkers surrounding the compound.

"Here you go," Daryl mutters, passing the scope to Michonne. "You wanted to see it."

She looks through the scope, nodding and passing it back to him when she's seen enough.

"So what do you need us for?" Rosita questions.

"To end this thing," Daryl grunts. "Right now."

He lays out the plan on our way down to the abandoned building just outside the Sanctuary's perimeter where Morgan and our other snipers are stationed. I want to brief the snipers, get 'em to watch our backs while we work our way through the herd and sneak into the south side, pick 'em off on their turf. He wants to crash the truck into the Sanctuary.

"No," I blurt, glaring at Daryl as he squints into the scope. "Absolutely not. No way in hell."

"Adie," Tara sighs. "Our people are gonna be at the Sanctuary soon, asking for their surrender. We're almost there."

"That's why we do it," Daryl grunts. "We make it happen."

"This plan is gonna get you killed," I protest.

"Your plan could get us  _ all _ killed," Tara points out. "We don't have the numbers."

She's right. I'm not sure why the hell I even came here, except that if I let Daryl leave without me and he didn't make it home… I'd never forgive myself.

"So," Michonne starts, eyes flickering between my face and Daryl's. "We cover you with crossfire from the upper windows, you crash the truck into the walkers and through to the building."

"Yep," Tara confirms. "Crack it open. Savior buffet."

"You know the workers will make it away, up the stairs?" Rosita hedges.

"They're on the other side of the building," Daryl tells her, unworried. "They should make it."

"You sure?" Rosita presses.

"No," I state flatly. "Some will. Not all of 'em."

"After we do this, their only choice is to give up," Daryl reasons.

"It's risky," Michonne points out. "They could see the truck comin'."

"There weren't any more weapons at the Saviors' warehouse, right?" Tara demands. "No more rockets for the RPGs. Adie blew up the dynamite, so we don't have that either."

I shoot her a look.

"We work with what we got," she insists.

"You got me," Morgan announces, materializing behind us. "Other snipers, too. Saviors see you comin', we got you covered. Whatever it takes. I want it done. I want  _ them _ done."

"Good," Daryl nods. "So, we doin' this or what?"

"Daryl-" I start.

"Why'd you come?" He snaps, glaring at me. "You were down back home but now you got cold feet?"

"I wasn't just gonna watch you leave!" I hiss, tears welling in my eyes. " _ Again. _ "

"It ain't up to you," he counters, softening slightly.

"I know that," I snap. "There's an awful lot that's not up to me anymore, Daryl. And it's not up to you either. This affects  _ all  _ of us."

"That's why I'm doin' this!" He explodes, eyes boring into mine. "I ain't gon' raise our kid under Negan's thumb, Adrienne! I want 'im dead, I want 'em  _ gone. _ "

Eight pairs of eyes slide to me. Morgan, Tara, Michonne, and Rosita are all staring at me like I've sprouted a second head.

"You're pregnant?" Michonne breathes, stricken. "Why the  _ hell _ are you out here?" 

"I'm out here because  _ he  _ is," I spit, glaring at Daryl.

His gaze drops to the ground and a heavy silence falls, several moments passing without a word.

"Why don't we just wait it out like we planned?" Rosita demands finally. "Michonne's right. What you're talking about is risky. Things could go bad."

"The truck with the speakers almost took all those walkers away," Tara snaps. "It almost  _ did  _ go bad. Something else could."

"Even if it don't, we don't got the Kingdom fighters no more," Daryl points out. "I mean, if the Saviors wanna put up a fight, we don't got the numbers to make 'em surrender."

"That's why Rick's talking to the Scavengers," Rosita argues.

"You got  _ shot, _ " Tara huffs. "They  _ lied _ to us. You, you believe 'em now?"

"Rick thinks he can make a better deal," I sigh, rubbing my temples. "He's got pictures. Of the Sanctuary, of the outpost we took out. He thinks he can convince the trash bitch and her people to join us, switch sides again."

"I believe in Rick Grimes," Rosita says fervently.

"I could've done something," Tara says, now on the verge of tears. " _ Sooner, _ to end this. I knew about those weapons at Oceanside, and I  _ waited. _ I didn't do shit about it. With or  _ without _ you… I'm not letting that happen again."

"Then it's without me," Rosita nods, walking away. "I'm out."

"We got some cars parked near the east side lookout," Morgan offers. "You can take one and go home."

Rosita nods gratefully, then turns to address me and Michonne.

"Are you staying?" She questions. "You good with all this?"

"Yeah," I murmur softly, feeling Daryl's gaze without looking at him. "Yeah, I'm stayin'."

"I helped get this started," Michonne says heavily. "Gotta see it through."

"You think it's easier to come out here and risk…" Rosita says. "Than to stay back there and wait. And I get it. I used to believe that, too. Thing is, sometimes you just have to wait. Sometimes you don't  _ get  _ to know. I just wish it didn't take seeing Sasha walk out of that coffin to realize it."

With that, she leaves. She's right. I know she is. I think Michonne does, too. But she can't leave. And neither can I. Not without Daryl.

"Come on," he says, climbing back into the truck. "Let's go."

Morgan hands me a walkie and we're off on our suicide mission.

*Daryl's POV*

"Hey, cut that engine," Morgan's voice squawks from the radio in Adie's lap. "Any closer, you'll draw walkers from the yard."

"Copy," Adie murmurs into the walkie as I park the truck.

I lift the scope to my eye and survey the courtyard. I can get through, but Adie… I need to find a spot she can fire but stay covered.

"Here," I grunt, passing the scope to Tara.

"You take fire from the windows, we fire back," Morgan's voice crackles.

"Come on," Tara says, patting Michonne's leg. "There's a spot for cover by the chutes."

Michonne don't move, just stares blankly at the herd milling about a few yards ahead of us. Adie's trapped between me and Michonne, so she ain't moving yet, either.

"You up for this?" I question, eyeing Michonne.

"I came here 'cause I wanted to see things for myself," she sighs. "I wanted to know that things were gonna work. But you know what? I don't get to know that.  _ None _ of us do. What I  _ do  _ know is that things are working  _ now. _ So maybe… we just need to trust that things are gonna keep working, because this… what we're about to do? It's not worth riskin'  _ us. _ "

Adie's quiet, but I can hear the wheels turning in her head. She thinks there's a better way. She's only out here 'cause I am. It ain't worth risking us… that's bullshit. It is. If the Saviors get outta this thing alive,  _ without _ the Kingdom… we're as good as dead.

"It is for me," I tell her honestly. "Just is."

"I hope it works," she says heavily. "I, I really,  _ really _ do, but I, I can't do it. I just can't."

"Then you shouldn't," I murmur, looking her in the eyes.

She nods, then squeezes Adie's hand and slips out of the truck. Adie still ain't moving, though.

"Daryl…" she sighs. "If this doesn't work, if you… if you don't come back-"

Her voice breaks, tears spilling down her cheeks.

"Hey," I place my hand under her chin and tilt her face up, her watery eyes sliding to mine. "It's gon' work. It's gotta. I'm gon' come back to you."

She ain't convinced. I ain't either, but… I need to do this. Before she can say a word, Tara's at the window.

"We got Morgan and the snipers," she says confidently. "We can do this."

"Yeah," I mutter. "We will."

She grins, then motions for Adie to get a move on.

"Be  _ careful, _ " Adie whispers.

Then she kisses me and it ain't a peck, neither. She kisses me like there ain't nobody looking, like she don't give a damn if there is. Right now, I don't either.

"I love you," she says fervently, pulling back and searching my eyes. "I know… I know this is somethin' you have to do. I'm with you. So… so get this thing done and come back to me. The second that brick hits the gas, get the hell outta there, okay?"

I love you. That phrase ain't never meant shit to me until I met Adie. Just words my ol' man would say after he screamed and yelled and beat the shit outta my mother. He'd say them words and they'd be good for a day or two, but good never did last. But Adie… she means it. She says it and I  _ feel  _ it and it's the realest goddamn thing I've ever felt.

"I love you, too," I tell her. "You stay safe, stay covered. I'm gon' come find you when it's done."

She nods and I press my lips to the top of her head before she climbs out of the truck and follows Tara out of my sight.

*Adrienne's POV*

"We're here," I breathe into the radio, Tara and I in position just around the corner from Daryl in the truck. "We're ready."

"South lookout, ready for go," Morgan's voice crackles.

"East lookout, ready."

"North lookout, ready."

"West lookout, ready."

I hear the truck's engine rumble to life and I know… there's no going back now. No changing our minds. This is it.

"He'll be okay, Adie," Tara whispers. "We can do this."

"Now!" Daryl barks, and we fire.

Negan's snipers fire, too, shot after shot raining down on the truck as Daryl plows through the walkers. But we're better shots. The enemy fire lessens as Tara, Morgan, me, and the other snipers kill 'em off. Daryl rolls from the truck just before it barrels into the south side of the building, walkers immediately glomming onto the wrecked vehicle, shambling inside through the hole in the wall.

"Daryl, you're clear to the south," Morgan's voice crackles over the radio. "You, Tara, and Adie should head home. Get Adie outta the line of fire."

He doesn't have to say it twice. Daryl's already flying towards me and Tara, fully intact with the exception of a scrape on his face. He grabs my shoulders, giving me a cursory look for wounds, finding none. And we run.


	96. Their Worst Damn Nightmare

**Chapter 96**

We're home just before sundown. We could've waited at the Sanctuary a few hours til it was time for the negotiation, waited for Rick. But we need all the bodies we can get. We need numbers. So we swung back home to pick up our people, stock up on weapons, ammo. They may not surrender, and if that happens… we're gonna need bullets.

"You ain't goin'," Daryl protests weakly, knowing this is a fight he's already lost before it even begins.

"Daryl," I sigh, watching Michonne approach us from the other side of the pond. "If you're goin', I'm goin'. We're a team. I'm  _ with  _ you."

"Hey," Michonne says, stopping as she reaches us.

"Hi," Daryl greets her.

"Hey," I smile, pulling her into a hug.

"I'm glad you came back," she says softly when I release her. "It's better we go out there together."

"It worked," Daryl shrugs. "We'll roll in, tell 'em to give up. They're gonna give up."

"I'm sorry," Michonne sighs. "I couldn't."

"Don't be," Daryl says earnestly. "It worked."

Michonne nods, then turns to address me.

"Adie, you should stay here," She says. "If they don't surrender, if this doesn't work… there's gonna be a lot of bullets flyin' around."

"We have the cars," I point out. "Cover. I'll be fine."

She eyes my belly pointedly.

"Jesus, will you all stop doin' that?" I gripe, crossing my arms protectively in front of me. "I'm comin' with you. Y'all wouldn't've questioned my ability to keep myself in one piece before."

"Yeah?" She questions, feigning nonchalance. "How are those stitches doin'?"

"Look," I sigh. "I know I've racked up my frequent flyer miles at the infirmary, but I didn't… I didn't have to worry about Fetus before. I  _ do _ understand the stakes, Michonne. I know. And I'm, I'm gonna be careful. But I'm not stayin' on the sidelines. Y'all need me."

"Fetus?" Daryl scoffs, trying to hide the smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

I shrug. Michonne isn't having it, though. She's worried. I know her intentions are good, but the pleading glance she casts at Daryl, like he can make my decisions for me, pisses me off a little. I'm pregnant, not a fucking invalid.

"We're a team," Daryl shrugs. "Better to go out together, right?"

I beam at him. He gives me a squeeze and heads back to help load up the cars, leaving me with Michonne.

"So," she sighs, the two of us falling into step beside each other with no real destination in mind, just walking around the pond as the sun sets, the sky turning an inky navy blue. "How far along are you?"

"I'm not sure," I mutter, kicking a loose bit of gravel across the lawn. "Two months or so?"

"Carl was askin' me if I thought that's why you and Daryl got married," she chuckles, bumping into my side playfully. "The day you all left for Hilltop."

"I didn't find out til that mornin'," I inform her, somewhat uncomfortable she and Carl had evidently been speculating about my sex life.

"Are you… okay with it?"

"I don't have another choice, do I?"

"You can be okay with it," she nods, considering. "And not be  _ okay _ with it."

The dam breaks. Tears well in my eyes and roll down my cheeks. I didn't realize how badly I needed to talk about it, and now I can. She's here and we have a little bit of time before we have to roll out again. She waits silently as I pull myself together, wiping the tears away before answering her.

"When I found out about Maggie..." I sniffle, taking a deep breath before continuing. "When I found out about Maggie, all I could see was Lori… the way she was at the end. Torn apart. Gone. And then I saw the way she and Glenn looked at each other, that day at Hilltop when they got to see their baby… and then, and then… Glenn…"

I trail off, dissolving into tears again at the injustice of it all. Glenn's never gonna see his baby. Maggie's a single mother before her kid is even born. Michonne opens her arms and I step into them, collapsing against her shoulder.

"I've only known for a few days, but every time…" I cry, thankful my voice is muffled by her neck. " _ Every time _ I look around and can't  _ see _ Daryl I… I can't lose him. I can't do this by myself. I'm, I'm not… I'm not strong enough."

"Yes, you are," Michonne says adamantly, placing her hands on the sides of my head and looking me in the eyes. "You are strong. If anything happens to Daryl, _if..._ you _are_ strong enough, and you won't be alone. Maggie isn't alone. Right?"

I nod, closing my eyes as she wipes the tears from my cheeks with her thumbs.

"We're a team," she reminds me, an echo of an echo of my own words. "No matter what happens."

I just nod again, the two of us falling silent as we resume walking, looking for Carl. He's staying here, holding down the fort while we negotiate with the Saviors, and neither of us wanna leave him without saying goodbye. Eventually something catches my eye. I exchange a glance with Michonne. She sees it, too. Carl, a few yards away, messing with one of the sewer grates.

"What the hell's he doin'?" I question, shaking my head as we approach.

"Carl," Michonne calls, his head snapping up. "We've been lookin' for you. We're about ready to head out. What're you doing?"

"I'm helping someone," Carl sighs defeatedly, knowing the chances of getting any bullshit past both me and Michonne are slim to none. "A traveler."

"Oh, right, the sewer traveler," I nod knowingly, crossing my arms. "I should've known."

Before he can explain himself, something thuds in the distance. A clanging sound, something hard and solid purposefully smacking against metal once, twice, three times. It sets my teeth on edge.

"You may be wonderin' why the hell your lookouts didn't sound the alarm." 

Negan. No… but it is. They got out. They're just outside our gates, Negan's voice, tinny and a bit distorted, ringing out from a bullhorn somewhere on the other side.

"See,  _ we  _ are polite," he continues. "I mean, I dunno when they're gonna wake up from that kinda shot, but they should wake up. So let's just cut through the cow shit,  _ you lose! _ It's  _ over. _ So you're gonna line up in front of your little houses, and you're gonna work up some fuckin' apologies, and then the person with the  _ lamest  _ one is gonna get killed. Then I kill Rick in front of everybody, and we move on. You have three, count 'em,  _ three _ minutes to open this gate, or we start bombin' the shit outta you!"

"They got out," Michonne breathes, horrified.

And then the whistling starts. Just like the night in the woods. The night he killed Abraham and Glenn. I freeze.

"Come on," Carl urges. "Adie, Michonne! Come on!"

He grabs my arm and I snap out of it, the three of us tearing towards the truck Rosita had loaded up with stun and smoke grenades from the Saviors' cache.

"You need to make it look like we're escaping out back," he instructs. "Get to the woods, halfway to the quarry, and cut the lights. Get enough of a lead on them, hit them, and then get away on foot. You know where we'll be. Just have to get the guns, get everyone else here, and we'll meet you there."

"Two minutes, people!" Negan hollers. "Dig deep. I want these apologies to be  _ memorable, _ bonus points for creativity! Work up a poem, sing a song… I  _ love _ that shit!"

"Get going!" Carl orders, Scott and Tobin hanging onto his every word. "There's gonna be people in the infirmary, they're gonna need your help."

Scott, Tobin, and a couple other Alexandrians tear towards the infirmary without batting an eye.

"Look, we got guns!" Tara hisses over Negan's whistling. "We can fight them."

"We will, but not now," Rosita tells her. "Carl's right."

"All right," I say, coming to my senses. "All right, we gotta go. Those bombs are gonna start flyin' any second now."

"Carl!" Michonne barks, stopping me in my tracks. "We can't just let them have this place."

"We  _ can, _ " Carl argues. "All you need to do is survive tonight. This is  _ my  _ show, you said it! This is my plan and you're gonna do it. You're  _ all  _ gonna do it. So let's go!"

"One minute!" Negan shouts.

"You get him distracted, and then you get your ass underground," I hiss, grabbing Carl before he can leave. "You understand? The  _ second _ we're out those gates, don't you hesitate."

"I promise," he assures me, surprising me by wrapping his arms around my waist before barreling off towards the gate. "Go!"

That's the end of the protests. We don't have time to argue. I reach for Daryl's hand and we run, Michonne, Tara, and Rosita on our heels.

*Daryl's POV*

This is my fault. If I'd waited like Michonne wanted, like Rosita said, like  _ Rick  _ said… but I didn't and now we're hiding in the woods, waiting for the Saviors to roll on by when they wouldn't've gotten out at all if I'd just had a little goddamn patience. Adie hurls another smoke grenade into the road behind the dump trucks we'd driven out here and lined up across the street. Fuckin' up their visibility.

"I think that's gonna be good," she whispers, eyeing her handiwork. "We should save the rest for when they come, throw 'em off more."

She crouches low, rifle aimed and ready to fire when Negan's pricks inevitably come barreling down the road.

"They didn't get out because of what we did with the truck," Tara murmurs.

"Even if they did, it was just a mistake," Rosita points out.

They're trying to absolve me. I wish they wouldn't. This is my fault.

"And I made one, too," Rosita continues. "If I hadn't gone to the Sanctuary to kill Negan, maybe Sasha would still be alive. Maybe she would've gone herself. Maybe everything would've ended up going exactly the same way. I didn't want you guys to do it, but maybe you needed to. Maybe you needed to play things out to figure shit out."

"That's a helluva lot of ifs ‘n maybes," Adie murmurs. "Doesn't matter. Choices we made, choices we  _ didn't _ make. No one's blameless, but it's no one's fault either. We all fucked up somewhere along the way. And here we are."

I don't know why, but somehow her not trying to make it all go away makes me feel just a little bit better. We're still fucked, but Adie acknowledging the parts we all played in where we're at now… no one's blameless.

"Where the hell are they?" Michonne hisses.

"They're comin'," Adie says grimly, and a fraction of a second later we hear the sound of engines approaching.

I pull the pin and toss another grenade into the road as headlights come into view. Two cars and an SUV. They ain't stopping, just driving right into the billowing smoke. Good. That's right where we want 'em.

"Now!" I order, and we start firing.

Saviors come pouring out of the vehicles, some of 'em smart enough to duck for cover, but some go down before they can take a full step. Dwight's with these guys, and when he draws his weapon I'm certain he's gonna aim right at us. But he don't. He fires into his unsuspecting companions, five more of 'em dropping to the ground. That's all of 'em.

"It's over!" Dwight hollers.

The five of us sprint out of the trees and around one of the cars. Looks like Dwighty boy got his ass shot. Good. I hope it hurts like a sumbitch. He kicks his gun towards Adie, who snatches it from the ground and tucks it into her waistband as Tara skitters forward, placing the barrel of her gun against Dwight's skull.

"I made sure you guys could get out the back," he says, eyeing me as I look down the barrel of my own gun, level with his nose. "I drove the convoy right up to the roadblock. I knew what it was."

God damn it. He ain't lyin'. And this ain't over. We still need him alive. I lower my weapon.

"I can't go back," he announces. "One of 'em got away. She's gonna tell 'em."

"How'd they get out?" I demand. "Was it what I did?"

"Eugene," he winces, clearly in pain.

Good. Let 'im bleed.

"Son of a bitch," Adie mutters.

"I can still help you," Dwight informs us. "I know how they work, how Negan thinks. I  _ want  _ you to win. I want Negan to die. And we can settle up after."

"You're a dead man," Adie murmurs, crouching beside him to look him in the eye. "You  _ know _ you're a dead man… and you're still gonna help us?"

"Yes," Dwight whispers emphatically.

Adie eyes him appraisingly. She sighs, evidently satisfied he's telling the truth, and gets to her feet. He ain't lyin'. But he is bleeding on my vest. I yank it roughly off of him, feeling a pang of vindictive pleasure when the wrenching of his injured arm causes him to cry out in pain. Then I follow my wife into the night, trying to ignore the explosions in the distance.

*Adrienne's POV*

We can see it from here. Our homes burning. But… it's just walls. As long as Carl's underground, safe with the others… we can rebuild. We can still win this thing. When it's over… we'll fix this place. Move forward. Daryl pries the cover off the manhole and drops a rock into the sewer below, signalling to our people we're here. It's just us. Don't shoot.

He takes me by the arm, guiding me into the hole in the ground. I drop into the sewer and step aside while he lowers himself through the opening. Then Tara, Rosita, Dwight… Christ.

"Michonne!" Rosita hisses. "Michonne!"

But she’s not listening. She's not coming with us. Anger bubbles up inside me for a moment, but then I realize. Rick's still out there. If it was Daryl, I wouldn't leave either. And that's why I don't protest when she slides the cover back into place, remaining aboveground. Daryl puts his hand on the small of my back and guides me through the sewer to our people. Tobin passes Judith to him, and I'm content to stay right beside the two of them until...

"Carl?" I breathe, breaking into a run.

Something's wrong with him. He's sick. Pale, clammy, sweating bullets. I've seen this happen time and time again. With Jim. Andrea. Bob. Deanna. He's dying. I sink to my knees beside him.

"Carl," I whimper, searching for the bite. "How…"

He pulls his shirt up, peeling away a bandage just over his ribs on his right side. The bite wound... it's not fresh. It's been here a while. I choke out a sob, gently smoothing his bandage back in place.

" _ How? _ " I rasp.

"I told you," he smiles weakly. "I was helping the sewer traveler."

I can't speak. Carl… it can't be Carl. In my mind, he's still that sad twelve year old who insisted to his mom they keep me, like I was a stray puppy he'd found in an alley somewhere and brought home. He saved me. Carl was the first real friend I ever had. It can't… it can't be Carl. I sit down beside him and he leans into me, placing his head against my chest like he did back in Atlanta whenever he was scared. Like he did at the prison after Lori… I stroke his hair and kiss his head, my tears mingling with his sweat as we just sit here. Silent. Helpless. Listening to Armageddon rage on above us.

Eventually, Michonne comes into view, Rick just behind her. She'd found him. The look on his face… shock. Disbelief. Denial. His son. It can't be his son. I press my lips to Carl's clammy forehead one more time before carefully getting up to make room for Rick and Michonne. I can't look at them. I cross over to Daryl and sink down next to him. He puts his arm around me and I cave in, burying my face in his neck and sobbing silently.

*Daryl's POV*

"I brought him here," Carl says weakly. "That's how it happened."

Rick's here, staring at the stranger among us, trying to process reality. We're all safe, Tobin and Scott got everyone down here in one piece. Carl's been hiding a man in the sewer. Stopped to help him, brought him home against Rick's wishes, and got bit for his trouble. Adie's beside herself, silently sobbing against my neck. I can feel her body trembling, her tears sliding down my skin and soaking into my shirt. I don't know what the hell to think. I don't say nothin'. There ain't nothin' to say. I just hold Adie, and Ass Kicker, a little tighter.

Rick and Michonne drop to their knees at Carl's feet, too shocked to speak. It's silent aside from the explosions still going off above our heads, the world rattling around us while those assholes level this place. There ain't nothin' we can do. Not about the Saviors, not about Carl, not about shit. We just have to wait it out.

"I… I don't…" Rick stammers.

"Dad…" Carl breathes.

"How?" Rick rasps.

"Dad…" Carl murmurs. "It's all right. It's gotta be. I wasn't sure if you'd make it back before… but… just in case, you know…" he produces a stack of papers from his back pocket. "I wanted to make sure I was able to say goodbye," he whispers, handing the stack to Michonne.

"No," Rick shakes his head adamantly, trying to deny what's happening. "It's them. It's  _ them. _ They, they don't… it, it wasn't…"

He trails off, his mind helplessly grasping at anything,  _ anything _ that could make this go away. But it can't. 

"Carl," Michonne chokes out, sobbing.

"No," Rick stammers. "No."

"I got bit," Carl murmurs heavily. "I was bringin' someone back. His name's Siddiq. We saw 'im at that gas station, before… it wasn't the Saviors. It just happened. I got bit."

Adie pulls away from me, eyeing Rick and Michonne as they sob quietly beside Carl. Her eyes are red-rimmed, her own tears still falling. Carl's breathing becomes labored and she nods to herself, as though affirming some sort of inner monologue, and gets to her feet.

"We need..." she croaks, clearing her throat before trying again. "We need to move him. Get him lyin' down. Carl, he, he… he needs that stretcher."

Her words seem to get through to Rick, and he and Michonne gently lift Carl from the ground and lay him down on the stretcher she'd indicated. Once he's down, Adie moves to the other side of the tunnel and leans against the wall, wrapping her arms around herself and staring almost unseeingly at Carl.

"Is that better?" Michonne whispers.

"Yeah," Carl confirms breathlessly. "Thanks."

"I, um…" Siddiq starts, eyeing Rick tentatively, pulling a bottle of pills from his pack. "I got these. They're over the counter, non-steroidal anti-inflammatories. They'll… um… They'll help a little with the fever. It did for my mom and dad."

He looks away, not quite able to meet Rick and Michonne's eyes as they stare at him without a word.

"Please, please take them," he says, voice breaking as he lifts his eyes once more. "Your son… he should have them."

Rick, with nothing else to do, takes the bottle.

"You're a doctor?" He questions softly.

"I was a resident…" Siddiq murmurs. "Before. Yeah."

"Your name's… Siddiq?" Rick asks.

"Yes."

"Did you know he was a doctor?" Rick questions, turning to his son. "Is that why you brought 'im back?"

"He wasn't gonna make it alone," Carl shakes his head. "He needed us. That's why."

"He was the one at the gas station," Rick nods.

There's another explosion, this one louder, bigger. Closer, right above our heads. The ground shakes, dirt and dust falling from the ceiling. Rick tries to shield Carl from it, but he ain't quick enough and Carl breathes it in, bursting into a hacking cough.

"Water!" Michonne hisses frantically, Adie already unclipping the bottle from her belt and scurrying over to Carl. "Give him water."

She passes the bottle to Rick, then sinks to her knees at the head of the stretcher as Rick lifts the it to Carl's lips.

"Easy," he soothes while his son drinks. "You got it? Slowly, slowly…"

Another explosion sounds, just as close as the last, and I cradle Ass Kicker tight to my chest, hoping it's enough, hoping she ain't afraid. Ain't no way she's gon' sleep through all that, but I'm trying like hell to make her feel safe. Michonne springs to her feet, stalking over to Dwight.

"Make it stop!" She orders, clutching him by the collar of his shirt and pressing him up against the wall. "Make them stop."

"I can't," Dwight tells her, and I know he's a lotta things, but he ain't lying.

"You  _ can, _ " Michonne sobs. "You're one of them. They'll listen to you.  _ Please. _ Please."

But he can't. No one can stop this. Rosita gets to her feet, slowly approaching Michonne. She touches her shoulder, trying to soothe her before turning her attention to Dwight.

"You said that Hilltop's safe?" She questions.

"Yeah," Dwight sighs, and I hear a 'but' coming.

"We need to get everybody there," Rosita announces, then turns back to Michonne. "We can get Carl there."

"And they think all of you got away in the woods," Dwight points out. "They're out there looking."

"West," Adie rasps, still kneeling beside Carl and Rick, not bothering to wipe the tears away as they slip down her cheeks and land in the dirt. "They saw us go west."

"So we won't go west," Tara finishes her thought, sidling up to Rosita.

"Your  _ best  _ chance is to stay here until they're gone," Dwight argues.

"No," I blurt. "They find us here, we're dead."

"They're almost done," Dwight insists. "They gotta be. It wasn't about destroying the place."

Adie scoffs angrily, but says nothing. I get it. Sure as hell sounds like it's about destroying the place.

"They don't have the ammo for that," Dwight continues. " _ After _ they let up,  _ after _ they're gone, that's when we go."

No one argues. We have to trust him. He knows he's a dead man no matter what side he's on. The only thing we can count on is his hatred of Negan. Whatever else he's done, that's one thing that ain't a question.

"Okay," Rosita nods. "We wait."

Michonne crumbles, accepting that this is the best option and making her way back to Carl's side. She collapses against Rick, one hand darting out to hold onto Adie's while the three of them cry together.

"You sure goin' to Hilltop's the best plan?" Dwight questions, eyeing Rosita.

"You got a better one?" She counters.

"All of you in one place together-" Dwight starts.

"All of us," I interrupt, tearing my eyes from Adie's face. " _ Together. _ We'll be their worst damn nightmare."

*Adrienne's POV*

"Was I right?" Carl questions weakly, looking up at me.

"About what?" I sniffle, smoothing his hair back away from his face.

"You and Daryl," he breathes. "You. You're pregnant, right?"

"Yeah," I murmur, voice cracking against the ceaseless tears. "I am."

He nods, a small smile spreading across his lips.

"You owe me the last Big Cat," he chuckles softly, now eyeing Michonne.

I let out a noise that's half sob, half laugh and press my lips to the top of his head.

"You knew before I did," I whisper.

"Don't I always?" He teases, the ghost of a smirk lighting up his face.

I sob laugh again, conceding as he turns back to Michonne, expression thoughtful.

"You left," he tells her. "You were supposed to be resting."

"I'm not tired," she assures him, grinning through her tears.

"Yeah," he scoffs weakly. "You look great."

He chuckles, then sighs.

"It's gotta stop, Michonne," he says seriously. "It's not supposed to be like this. I know it can be better."

She nods, fresh tears falling from her eyes as Rick squeezes her hand. I'm suddenly aware of the noises overhead, the roaring of engines, of tires churning up dirt. Birds chirping. They were here all night, but now they're leaving. Maybe. They could be faking us out.

"Sounds like they're lettin' up," Scott observes.

"Looks like you were right," Rosita admits, eyeing Dwight over her shoulder. "They're leaving."

"Yeah, maybe," Daryl murmurs warily, catching my eyes, clutching Judith tight as he makes his way over to Rick. "Want me to go take a look?"

He phrases it like a question, handing Judith to Rick. But it's not. It's a statement. He's gonna go look, make damn sure it's safe before he lets anyone else leave.

"You ain't comin'," he tells me. "Not this time."

His eyes are boring into mine and I know it's not a request. I nod quietly, understanding.

"Be careful," I whisper, hating my voice for breaking.

He nods, then squeezes Rick's shoulder. He doesn't have words, none of us do, but the touch, the physical comfort, says enough. He's here. We're here. Together, all of us. He nods to Carl. It's a salute, one last sign of respect before…

Then he's leaving, taking Scott and Tobin with him. I hold my breath, staring up at the ceiling as though somehow, if I look hard enough, I'll be able to see through the metal and earth separating me from him. I can't. It's only a few minutes, but I feel  _ every _ aching, eternal second until he's back. We can leave.

"The Saviors are gone," Michonne breathes hopefully, helping me to my feet before turning back to Rick. "We can get everyone to Hilltop. We can get Carl there."

"Carl?" Rick questions, eyes on his son. "No."

"Daryl can get one of the cars," Michonne pleads, stricken, not understanding.

"Carl won't make…" Rick stammers, then trails off. "He can't leave here. I have to stay with him."

"Rick," Michonne protests.

"He can't," Rick says adamantly. "I have to stay."

"We'll both stay," Michonne suggests, but Rick is already shaking his head.

"Will you…" he sighs, looking down at his daughter. "Will you take Judith? She needs to be there. If she… if, if… happens…"

He dissolves into tears, his voice cracking, breath coming in short, ragged bursts.

"I'll take her," Daryl says firmly, reaching for the little girl. "I'll get her there. I'll keep her safe. I got this."

Rick nods, about to hand Judith over into Daryl's waiting arms.

"Let me say goodbye," Carl breathes, trying to sit up.

Michonne bends to help him, propping him up against the wall as Rick crouches down in front of him, Judith's little body turned to face her brother.

"You be good, okay?" Carl tells her. "For Michonne. For Dad. You gotta honor 'im. Listen when he tells you stuff. You don't have to always. Sometimes, kids gotta show their parents the way."

I reach for Daryl's hand, clinging to him while we both just stand and watch, unable to do a damn thing about shit. I know he feels the frustration, the helplessness I feel. He squeezes my hand, eyes on Carl as he takes the hat he's managed to hold onto all these years in his hands.

"This was Dad's before it was mine," he says softly, holding the Sheriff's hat out to his sister. "Now it's yours. I don't know, just… just having it and… it always kept Dad with me. It made me feel as strong as him. It helped me. Maybe it'll help you, too. Before Mom died… she told me that I was gonna beat this world. I didn't. But you will. I  _ know  _ you will."

Judith, sensing something is really, terribly wrong, begins to cry, reaching for her brother. She's only a baby still. She's too young to understand what's going on, but she knows. She knows. Daryl pulls away from me, taking Judith in his arms, clutching the hat with his free hand.

"Shhh…" he soothes. "C'mere, c'mere."

She wraps her little arms around his neck, no longer sobbing, but still whimpering against his skin. It's time to go.

"Carl…" I murmur softly, voice breaking. "You… you saved me. Not just tonight, but in, in… in Atlanta. You decided.  _ You  _ took me in. I…" I choke on a sob, crouching to look him in the eye. "Thank you."

He nods weakly, his own tears escaping, a sad smile tugging at his lips. I reach for his hand, squeezing it gently before turning to Rick. There are no words. I press a kiss to my brother's temple and get back to my feet, returning to Daryl's side.

"These people," Daryl grunts, voice gruff with emotion as he looks at Carl. "You saved 'em  _ all. _ That's all you, man."

He dips his head once and turns away, casting one last glance at Rick before we leave, Tara trailing behind us. We reach the metal rungs bolted to the wall beneath the manhole.

"I'll go first," Tara volunteers, already climbing up the ladder.

"Go," Daryl grunts, placing Carl's hat on Judith's head.

I follow Tara up the ladder, then reach down to take Judith from Daryl so his hands are free to climb.

"Hey, Jude," I murmur, her big, teary brown eyes searching mine. "We're gonna go see aunt Maggie."

She just stares at me, those eyes seeing right through the minuscule bit of fake joy I'd managed to muster. I kiss her cheek and hold her closer. Siddiq is the last person out of the manhole. Daryl rounds us all up and we start walking. We've got a lot of miles between us and Hilltop.


	97. Records and Good Faith

**Chapter 97**

*Daryl's POV*

We've been walking for hours. Adie's been carrying Ass Kicker in a sling on her back since we left and I know her shoulders gotta be aching by now, despite her many adamant protests that she's just fine, thank you. I promised Rick I'd get his little girl to safety and Adie's the person I trust the most with her, so I ain't gonna fight her. We're trekking through the underbrush when we hear voices. Saviors, posted on an overpass right above our heads. I hold a fist up, signalling my people to stop moving and stay quiet.

"Patrols, we got an orange situation," a radio squawks. "Dr. Carson and the priest. Might've split overnight, maybe this morning. Jeremy's green sedan is MIA, so could be in that. Go for standard search and cover in our perimeter around Hilltop. Eyeballs open."

"Patrol four copies," one of the Saviors barks into the radio, he and his buddies piling into their truck to leave.

Shit, that makes this a hell of a lot easier.

"C'mon, let's hurry it up!" One of the Saviors orders the others, and a second later they're gone.

I leave my fist in the air and inch my way forward, clearing the area before whistling for the others to follow.

"Best to stay off the roads, head into them woods right there," I instruct, directing the group into the trees. "Come on. Go, go."

We're marching along just fine when some dead asshole tries to munch on Tobin.

"I got it," Tara calls, sprinting towards the walker.

"I'll cover you," Dwight volunteers, right on her heels.

Tara grabs hold of the walker and flings it at Dwight, knowing damn well he ain't armed.

"Tara!" Rosita snaps.

"What?" She demands breathlessly. "It got away. He can handle it."

He can. This time. Part of me is disappointed he didn't get bit, or at least have to fight a little harder, but mostly I know we gotta keep him around. He hurls the walker to the ground and stomps its skull in, clutching at his injured arm.

"See?" Tara shrugs.

"Tara!" Adie snaps, eyes flashing. "Knock it off."

"He  _ handled _ it," Tara snarls, gearing up for some kind of loud defense of her actions.

"Hey!" I snap my fingers, pointing forward. "Jus' keep 'em movin'."

Tara scoffs, knocking into Adie's shoulder as she passes her to walk ahead with our people. Adie says nothing, just glares daggers at the retreating woman before turning back to me and Rosita.

"Did you hear them talkin' on the walkie about Carson and Gabriel?" Rosita questions.

"Yeah," I mutter, Adie nodding her confirmation. "Probably headin' to Hilltop, same as us."

"Hopefully better than us," Rosita sighs, eyeing a couple more walkers shambling out of the trees.

"Hopefully," Adie mumbles, rolling her shoulders and stalking off to follow our people.

Rosita and I take down the walkers, then follow in Adie's footsteps. We ain't even halfway there yet. I make my way to the front of the group and we keep walking. I'm gonna get 'em there.

*Adrienne's POV*

I think Judith is growing,  _ actively, _ right here on my back while we tromp through the woods. She feels heavier with every step, but the burn in my protesting shoulders is a good pain. Her weight on my back means she's alive. I'm gonna make damn sure she stays that way. I forget all about the pain, though, when a wave of nausea rolls though my body. It's so intense and unexpected, I don't have time to react before I'm doubled over, spewing bile onto the ground.

"Adie!" Tobin exclaims, rushing to my side as I wipe my mouth on my sleeve. "Are you okay?"

"Okay?" Judy's tiny voice echoes in my ear, her fingers grasping at my hair.

"Yeah," I say breathlessly. "Yeah, I'm okay. I'm okay."

"Are you sick?" Tobin questions, passing me a nearly empty bottle of water.

"She's pregnant," Rosita informs him, scowling when I reject the water. "You need to drink that, Adie, and you need to let one of us carry Judith. Just for a little while."

"I'm fine," I protest weakly, attempting to ignore the couple dozen pairs of eyes now staring at my stomach. "Really. Save the water, I'm o-"

"Adie," Daryl's suddenly behind me, pulling Judith from the sling on my back. "You ain't fine."

"I'll take her," Tobin volunteers.

It would seem it's no longer up to me, so I give in. I pull the sling from my shoulders and hand it to Tobin with a sigh. Daryl places Judith into the sling, making sure she's tucked in and safe before turning back to me and glaring pointedly at the water bottle in my hands. I unscrew the cap and take a couple small swallows, then pass the bottle back to Tobin.

"Thanks," I mutter grudgingly.

"It's no trouble," he assures me, rubbing my shoulder.

We keep walking. I fall into step beside Daryl at the head of the group. It's silent for another hour or so, but something's on my mind. If Gabriel and the doctor got away, the first place they'd go would be the Hilltop.

"If Dr. Carson makes it back to Hilltop," I murmur softly, glancing at Daryl from beneath my lashes. "He could… he could see me. He could tell us if… if things are okay. When it's gonna happen."

He's quiet, chewing his lip as he considers that possibility.

"If… if you want," I add uncertainly.

He glances at me, seemingly alarmed at my sudden vulnerability.

"Hey," he says, touching my elbow. "We'll see 'im. Get one of them pictures, too."

"Yeah?" I question, mouth curving into a small smile.

"Yeah," he assures me, dropping a kiss to the top of my head.

I flush, trying to contain the whoop of delight threatening to wrench itself from my body. He wants this. Well, maybe not. I still don't know if I do, either. But he's okay with it. I remember Michonne's words to me yesterday afternoon. I can be okay with it and not be okay with it. I think… I think I'm okay. I'm just scared. But… I have absolute faith in Daryl. I can get through this with him. He's with me. It's gonna be okay. My steps become a bit lighter and I almost don't feel the time passing as we continue our journey.

-

"Hey," Rosita says eventually, catching up to me and Daryl. "Daryl."

Daryl and I turn to face her, discovering that most of our group is no longer just behind us.

"Where are they?" Daryl demands.

"They needed rest," Rosita explains. "They're exhausted, they haven't slept."

"All right," Daryl sighs. "Ten minutes, then we keep goin'. I'm gon' go back, cover our tracks."

"I'll come with you," I volunteer, already retracing our path.

"Wait," Rosita stops me in my tracks, a gentle hand gripping my elbow. "You should rest."

She sees the look on my face.

"It's just ten minutes," she insists, rushing to speak before I can argue. "I'll go with him. You sit."

"Okay," I concede. "Okay, fine, I'll stay."

"I have a question," Tara blurts as I sink to the ground, leaning up against a tree. "Is there a reason why he's still breathing?"

She tilts her head to indicate Dwight, who is indeed still breathing, standing a few yards away.

"Fight ain't over," Daryl points out.

"It is for him," Tara counters. "I'm done waiting."

"Not now," Daryl shakes his head. "Not yet."

He heads back into the trees to cover our tracks without another word, leaving Tara in open mouthed indignation.

"He's right," Rosita points out. "Dwight could have an angle we don't know about. He could help. He  _ wants  _ to. Can't give that up yet."

Tara shakes her head, unconvinced.

"We just lost the kid," Rosita hisses.

"Carl," I snap, catching her eye. "We lost  _ Carl. _ "

"Carl," she echoes, softening slightly when she spots my tears. "So let's just stop. At least until we get to the Hilltop."

She leaves us with that, stalking deeper into the woods after Daryl. Tara sighs, then plops defeatedly to the ground beside me. I understand. Dwight killed her person. He tortured mine. Would've killed him if Negan hadn't wanted him alive. I want Dwight dead, too. Daryl, prompt as ever, returns with Rosita ten minutes later, pulling the map from his vest and laying it flat on the ground.

"If they're smart, they'll cover all these passes between here and Hilltop," he grunts, pointing at several overpasses on the streets west of Alexandria.

"We have to keep movin'," Rosita sighs. "We'll just have to risk it."

"Maybe you don't have to," Dwight announces, approaching Tara, Daryl, Rosita and I clustered around the map. "Negan won't send his people down into this stretch of swamp," he points to a spot on the map not too terribly out of the way. "Not if he doesn't have to," he amends, straightening up.

"Yeah?" Tara demands. "How do you know that?"

"Jesus, Tara," I sigh, aggravated at her constant confrontational bullshit. "He knows 'cause he's one of 'em, we've been over this. We know. No one's forgotten. Let him help us."

She falls silent, glaring at me stonily.

"Negan wanted to map the best routes with cover from the Sanctuary to the Hilltop," Dwight continues. "He, he decided the swamp was too dangerous. Didn't think it was worth the risk."

Daryl, Rosita, and I exchange glances, considering. My mama's sister, Antoinette Devereaux, my aunt Nettie, had drilled a healthy fear of the swamp into my head by the time I was 6 years old. She lived out on the bayou and mama always said I got my tough from her. Aunt Nettie might very well still be alive and kicking out there. She'd tell me all kinds of shit to keep me out of the swamp, stories about ghosts and werewolves and wendigos, and when none of that worked she told me about crocodiles and quicksand and how everything looks the same when you're lost. The swamp's risky, but trying to sneak a group of people this size past several groups of Saviors is riskier. Tara springs to her feet, turning to glare at us all, the picture of righteous disbelief.

"You aren't seriously gonna listen to him," she snaps, outraged. "It's too dangerous for the Saviors, so you're gonna send us? You're gonna put your _ baby _ at risk?" She demands, glaring at me. "Are you fuckin'  _ kidding  _ me?"

"They have us boxed in," Rosita points out.

"How the hell else do you propose we get a couple dozen of us past all those Saviors?" I hiss. "We got  _ lucky _ with the others, they just happened to be leavin' when we passed."

"Tara has a point," Tobin pipes up. "Why should we trust him?"

"He could turn on us like he turned on his own people," Scott points out.

"I didn't just turn on 'em," Dwight corrects. "I killed 'em. Daryl saw it. Rosita saw it. Adrienne," he turns to address Tara directly. " _ You  _ saw it," he nods. "But one of them got away. So if they find me, Negan puts my head on a pike. I'm not workin' for them, and I'm not goin' back to them. I chose my side. This is it. I'm here to help you beat Negan, after that…" he chuckles mirthlessly. "Well, I know how it ends."

Daryl's concerned gaze sweeps over our people, then lands, lingering, on me.

"All right," he says finally, straightening up and refolding the map. "We try the swamps."

*Daryl's POV*

I wanna kill that skinny, double-crossing motherfucker so bad it hurts. I know Tara does, too, but we can't yet. We can't  _ yet. _ But we will.

"That's new," he blurts suddenly, his eyes on Adie's left hand.

Adie stays quiet, twisting the ring on her finger so the diamond is on the wrong side, curling her hand into a fist.

"You take that off a dead one?" He presses.

"No," Adie scowls.

"Hey, I'm not judgin'," he murmurs, holding his hands up in surrender. "It's nice."

"Why are you talkin'?" Adie demands.

"What else am I gonna do?" He counters bitterly. "It's not like I got anything to lose. But-"

"This works, it don't change shit," I interrupt.

"Everything I did, it was for Sherry," he reiterates for the hundredth time since I met the guy. "Doesn't make it right, or somethin' that should be forgiven. But it's the truth. Only one I got left. She's the one that let you out. Then she ran."

"She's out here?" I question.

"Somewhere," he replies. "I hope."

He glances at Adie again. Every time his eyes land on her, I wanna punch him.

"Why didn't you take the deal?" He asks her.

"What deal?" Adie eyes him, bewildered.

"Goin' back to the Sanctuary with Negan," he clarifies. "You'd done that, he would've let Daryl out. I'm not sayin' the job was easy, but… it beat bein' in a cell."

"I didn't say yes to Negan because he's a piece of shit," Adie says bluntly. "I know about Sherry. I know she made a deal to  _ save _ you, and I guess you think I should've done the same to save Daryl. But let me ask you somethin', since you're feelin' so damn chatty," she pauses, eyeing him appraisingly. "Did that deal save you, really?" She questions. "Watchin' someone else put his hands all over her? That the life you wanted?"

Dwight's face goes slack, the only sign of emotion being the pain in his eyes.

"Maybe that's cruel," Adie continues softly, just the slightest hint of contrition in her voice. "And maybe it's not fair, askin' you that. But you're not here to play couples therapy. I'm not Sherry. You're not the same as Daryl. Quit tryin' to justify your shitty choices just 'cause your wife happened to help Daryl out before she left. And I'm grateful for that, I  _ truly _ am, but she only did it to ease her own  _ guilt. _ "

She stalks angrily away, leaving us all dumbstruck as she pulls ahead, walking several paces in front of the group. No. No, she ain't Sherry. She's better. And she's mine.

*Adrienne's POV*

We're here. The swamp, just as putrid and mucky as it's always been. There's only one walker above the water, but we all know there could be others hidden beneath the tepid, green sludge. Daryl raises a fist, signalling a stop as he makes his way to the banks and fires a bolt into the gurgling, moss-covered walker.

"We have to be careful," Rosita observes. "But we can do this."

"Push through," Daryl nods, turning to collect volunteers. "Clear a path for the others."

"Count me in," Scott says, pulling his knife from its sheath. "I'll go."

"If I can have the crossbow-" Dwight starts, moving towards Daryl.

"You can't," Daryl barks. "You gon' stay right there."

Dwight nods, unsurprised, and backs away.

"Adie," Daryl murmurs imploringly, turning to me. "I don't want you goin' in that shit til it's safe. Will you stay?"

I nod, swallowing my protests. The truth is, I don't want to stay here. I want to follow Daryl, watch his back. But I get it. It's not just about me and him anymore. So I'll stay.

"You coming?" Rosita questions, turning to Tara.

"I'm gonna hang back," Tara tells her. "Watch over the group."

Watch over the group, my ass. She starts anymore shit, I'm gonna have to kick her ass. I'm too tired for this.

"Come on," Daryl urges. "Let's get this done."

He, Rosita, Scott, and Siddiq wade into the water, each of them at least knee deep in the pungent murk. I watch them disappear beyond the trees, my heart lodging itself somewhere in my throat. I can't worry about that, though. Walkers are behind us, several of 'em, growling and shambling around a little too close for comfort.

"Who wants to help me take care of that?" Tara sighs heavily, then tosses a knife in Dwight's direction. "Congratulations. You just volunteered."

"Tara…" I warn, not liking this at all.

"I'm cool," she says nonchalantly.

She's cool. Sure. She and Dwight move into the trees and away from the group. I try to ignore the churning in my guts, but after several minutes pass and they're still not back, I make my decision.

"Tobin, I'm gonna go check on Tara," I murmur. "Don't let Judy outta your sight, I'll be back."

I head off in the direction Tara and Dwight had disappeared, following the trail of bodies they'd left on the ground. I can hear them now. No, I can just hear Tara. She's saying something, and then… shit. Silencer is a misnomer. Guns can't be silenced, just suppressed. And there's no mistaking the sound of a gunshot, not for me, not now. Even a silenced one. I break into a sprint, catching sight of the two of them running just ahead of me. 

"Tara!" I hiss, but she either can't hear me or doesn't want to.

I speed up, hurtling out of the trees and into a clearing just seconds after she and Dwight do. Dwight's stopped, clearly giving up. He's injured. Tired. Not much left to live for, except watching Negan die. Tara's got him at gunpoint.

"Tara!" I snap breathlessly.

"Go back, Adie," she snarls, not bothering to look at me.

"I knew it was gonna happen," Dwight pants. "I just wanted to help you win first."

"Just sayin'," a man's voice interrupts, prompting the three of us to dive back into the trees, taking cover just beyond the clearing. "They'd be idiots to risk it is all."

"Least we can say we checked," a woman says.

Saviors. A whole group of them. More than we can handle with a handful of bullets and Dwight's bum arm.

"Still rather be us than J-Money right now," another Savior observes. "Swamp's that way. Let's cut through there."

My stomach lurches as they approach the thicket of trees between them and us. Suddenly, Dwight hurls himself from cover, waving at his old buddies.

"Hey," he greets them breathlessly.

"Dwight," one of the male Saviors observes, smacking Dwight's hand from the air.

"The hell happened to you?" The woman who appears to be leading the pack demands. "We thought you were dead."

"It was an ambush," he announces, the lie rolling smoothly off his tongue. "You know, they shot us to hell, but I got away. Spent the whole night hidin'. You know, runnin' from the dead ones… tryin' to make it back. What happened to Laura? I thought she might've made it out, too."

"Yeah, I'm sorry, D," one of the men says, shaking his head. "No one's seen her."

"So, what're you doin' out here?" Dwight questions.

"Trackin' the Alexandrians," another Savior says.

"'Bout to check the swamp, see what we can see," the woman informs him.

"I just came from there," Dwight tells her. "They were smart enough to steer clear. Now, if I were them, I'd stick closer to Burke's Pass. Good cover, straighter shot."

He's leading them away. He's on our side and Tara damn near blew it for us all. I place my hand on the barrel of her gun and, in a not so gentle fashion, lower it for her. The Saviors wander off, following Dwight's lead, and she and I turn to find Rosita right behind us.

"What were you doing?" Tara questions.

"Makin' sure you were okay," Rosita tells her. "I saw you running after him."

"She's just peachy," I snarl. "Where's Daryl?"

"He's safe," Rosita assures me, stepping aside as I stalk my way past her.

"You know what?" I snap, whirling around to face Tara. "You are  _ not  _ the only person who's lost someone they loved. All we're askin' for is a little goddamn patience. Daryl  _ told  _ you to wait! That stunt almost cost us  _ all  _ our safety. What if you'd shot 'im before I got to you? Before we'd seen the Saviors? We have enough to worry about without havin' to  _ babysit _ you!"

With that, I stomp back to Daryl and the others. I scan them, taking a mental headcount, relieved to find them all here. They're all safe. Daryl snatches my hands, frantically checking me for damage.

"I'm fine," I assure him. "I'm okay."

"She's  _ peachy, _ " Tara says snottily, she and Rosita emerging behind me.

Daryl's eyes ignite, rage distorting his features as he turns on Tara.

"I told you to wait!" He roars, jabbing his index finger at her face, pacing around like an animal in a cage. "For all we know, he could be tellin' 'em  _ everything! _ Negan could be on his way here  _ right now! _ "

"He  _ isn't, _ " Tara insists, voice low. "He  _ won't. _ He led them away. They were coming right for us, and he saved us."

"She's right," Rosita murmurs. "He did. I saw it."

Daryl eyes me and I nod in confirmation. I'm not worried about Dwight, not really. I'm just pissed Tara could've cost some of us our lives, maybe all of us.

"I don't give a damn what he did," Daryl growls. "He can stick with them, he can come back, hell, he can  _ run! _ When I find that son of a bitch, I'm gonna-"

He stops abruptly, noticing Judith's fearful eyes. The little girl is perched upon Tobin's lap, the older man shielding her ears from Daryl's rage. She's watching him, those big, brown eyes filled with anxiety.

"C'mon," he says weakly, visibly deflated.

He wades into the swamp a second time, leading us safely through to the solid ground on the other side. It's a much quicker route than our original plan and we find ourselves at Hilltop's gates before sundown. Exhausted, nerves frayed, but alive. All of us. Together. Well. Almost all of us. Carol and Enid come bounding towards us the moment the gates creak open, faces falling as they note the missing among us. Rick and Michonne. And Carl. Carol's questioning eyes look to Daryl for answers, Enid and Maggie right behind her.

"Carl," he murmurs, cradling Judith a little tighter and shaking his head.

No one can say anything. Enid drops to her knees, sobbing. She and Carl had a thing. Two teenagers growing up in this world… I guess it wasn't just a thing. They may be young, but they loved each other in a way beyond the way most teens could before... Maggie and I kneel beside her, pulling her into our arms, tears slipping silently down our cheeks while the three of us weep together.

*Daryl's POV*

Carol managed to do the impossible and got Adie to lay down. She's sleeping, curled up in a bed, Ass Kicker tucked safely away in the crook of her arm. I ain't sleeping yet, not until Rick gets here. I promised I'd keep his baby safe, I ain't gonna sleep. I thought getting here would feel safer, but it feels the same. Exposed. Vulnerable. Maggie's got a group of Saviors and that prick Gregory held in the yard. I want 'em dead. But this is her place.

Judith begins to stir, and I'm afraid she's gonna wake Adie, so I take her outside to be passed around between the doting adults. Shouldn't be too long before Rick and Michonne get here. Carl… he couldn't've stuck things out much longer. Adie won't say it but I know how hard it is on her. Hell, it's hard on us all. For Carl to be the one to go… it ain't right. It ain't fair. He was just a kid.

"Open the gates!" Kal hollers. "It's Rick!"

The gates open and Rick and Michonne appear, scanning the people milling about the yard. Rick's eyes linger on the fenced in Saviors, and I know he ain't thrilled they're here either. Then he catches sight of his daughter and, just for a moment, his worried gaze softens. She's nestled safely on Barbara's hip. Barbara moves towards Rick, the baby in her arms reaching for her dad.

Rick cradles her to his chest, catching my eyes and offering a nod of thanks. I nod back. But it ain't nothin'. He don't need to thank me. He's my brother. I'd do anything to help keep his family safe. He passes Ass Kicker off to Michonne before disappearing behind Barrington House. The cemetery. Where Abraham and Glenn are buried. I follow him. What I did at the Sanctuary ain't right and I owe him an apology. When I get to him, he's kneeling beside Glenn's grave.

"Where's Adie?" He questions, knowing it's me and knowing I'm alone without even glancing.

"She's asleep," I murmur. "Wanted her to get some rest 'fore she decides she's gotta be on watch or somethin'."

"She didn't argue?" He questions flatly, still not looking at me.

"Carol," I explain.

He accepts the answer and a heavy silence falls between us.

"You know, I…" I sigh, unsure what the hell to say but pushing on 'cause I need to say something. "I look around 'n… I think about the people that're gone… and the people that're still here. It ain't right. And it ain't fair. Look, about… what I did at Sanctuary, tryin' to end it real quick… I just wanted it  _ done. _ I didn't wanna give 'em another chance, not again. And I didn't care who was there. I dunno if that makes it right or-"

"Yeah, it does," he cuts me off, shocking me into silence as he stands, turning to face me. "I didn't wanna risk killin' innocent people, I should've just been worryin' about  _ our _ people. Hell with anyone else."

"We'll keep fightin'," I promise him. "Until you're ready."

"I'm ready," He says firmly. "Maggie's got lookouts out there."

"Every half mile," I nod. "Waitin' to signal each other, I know."

"Yeah," he murmurs, voice hoarse. "I'm goin', too. To make sure we're all ready."

"I'll go with you," I volunteer, not wanting him alone.

It ain't that he can't handle himself, he can, but… Carl's gone. Everything Rick's done since the day I met him was to keep his son safe. Rick's the toughest sumbitch I know, but he ain't okay.

"We should split up," he counters. "We're coverin' as much ground as we can."

"All right," I nod, watching while he struggles against the tears attempting to make their escape from his eyes.

"I'm okay," he insists, looking up as though he can feel the concern radiating off my body.

"Yeah?" I question, not buying it.

"Okay," he shrugs, shaking his head. "I'm gonna be okay."

He walks away and I'm gonna let him. Give him his space.

"Daryl…" he blurts, turning back for a moment. "Thank you. For gettin' 'em here."

I just nod. It's a given. I promised him I would. I did.

*Adrienne's POV*

"God damn it," I mutter, sitting up and stretching.

I'd fallen asleep. That hadn't been my plan. I was gonna lay down for an hour to appease Carol, then get my ass to a watchpost. Instead, I was out like a damn light. Daryl must've taken Judy. I don't remember her leaving my arms, but I know she and Daryl were with me. The last thing I remember before drifting off is telling Daryl I'm not tired. I scoff to myself and get to my feet.

I make my way outside just as Rosita pulls up in an SUV, Maggie, Michonne, and Enid meeting her almost before she stops. I reach them just as Enid opens the trunk, revealing four black milk crates that don't appear to contain anything remotely useful.

"I dunno what the hell it is," Rosita huffs, handing a piece of paper to Maggie.

"What the hell what is?" I question. "Where's Daryl?"

"These were outside the gates," Enid informs me, jerking a thumb at the crates in the back of the SUV. "And Daryl went to relieve one of the lookouts. Rick, too."

"If you fill the crates with food or phonograph records, I will gladly exchange them for the key to your future," Maggie reads off.

"It lists coordinates for our meeting spot," Rosita says, pointing to the numbers written on the back of the page.

Maggie passes the paper to Michonne, then moves to the trunk to inspect the crates. I lean in, reading over Michonne's shoulder. What the hell? It's gotta be a trap of some sort, but… what would Negan want with records? Food is an absolute necessity, but records? No. This isn't Negan. It's too simple.

"This isn't the Saviors," Michonne says confidently, echoing my thoughts. "They'd blow through the gates, make a big show. This isn't that."

"I wouldn't put anythin' past 'em," Maggie argues.

"Well, if it is a trap, it's kinda obvious," Rosita points out.

"Which is what could make it a trap," Maggie counters, unyielding.

"What if…" Michonne starts hesitantly, sighing and shaking her head. "What if it's someone who actually wants to help?"

"I don't see what the Saviors would want with Hilltop's Mozart meets the Bee Gee's collection," I shrug.

"If someone is tryin' to help us and we miss out, we miss out," Maggie says quietly. "If somebody's tryin' to kill us, we die."

"Not if we're careful," Michonne counters.

"Being careful is staying here," Enid mutters.

"I'll go," Michonne volunteers. "I'll see what's up."

"You go, I go," Rosita nods.

"Rick wants us here," Enid insists.

"I know," Michonne nods. "But the last time we took a chance like this, it changed  _ everything. _ "

Last time we took a chance like this… the water in the road, that night we'd stayed in the barn. We took a chance on Aaron, went with him to Alexandria. It wasn't easy, but… I don't think any of us thought life could be like that again. People living in actual houses, running water, kids playing in the streets… safe. It did change everything.

"Rick didn't agree with me  _ then, _ he may not understand me  _ now, _ " Michonne continues.

"He won't," Maggie points out.

"But eventually, he will," Michonne insists confidently. "He will."

"Jesus and the others've been scavenging and we're still starving," Maggie sighs, relenting "Maybe this person does have somethin' that can help."

"Then I'm coming with you," Enid says.

"I'll go, too," I add.

"No," Maggie says flatly. "You're pregnant."

"I, I'm, but… but  _ you're _ pregnant!" I stutter, scandalized. "Y'all need to quit babyin' me. Jesus."

"Okay," Maggie concedes, contrite. "I'll grab records, case this is real."

She pulls the gun from her holster, checking the clip and sighing.

"You get extra clips in case it isn't," she orders.

We break, each going our separate ways to gather supplies. We meet back at the SUV. Michonne's gonna drive, Maggie and Enid riding along. Rosita and me are leaving first, gonna cut through the woods east of Hilltop on foot and approach the meeting spot from behind, sticking to the trees until the others arrive. Whatever the hell this is, we're not planning on anybody getting the drop on us. We're in position less than half an hour when a lifted van pulls up, parking horizontally across the road.

Only two people climb out, but there could be several more hidden in the back seat. It's a big vehicle. Still, they don't look like Saviors. A few minutes later, the SUV carrying our people approaches. Rosita catches my eye from her spot hidden in the trees across the street from me and I nod. The two of us silently make our way towards the van as Michonne, Maggie, and Enid climb out of the SUV.

Suddenly, one of the people outside the van yanks open the door, a middle-aged woman in a blazer hopping out. She reminds me of Deanna in a way I can't quite put my finger on. Rosita and I freeze, holding position just out of sight near either end of the van.

"My name is Georgie," the middle-aged woman announces. "And these are my friends, Hilda and Midge. And you are?"

Michonne, Maggie, and Enid all remain silent, eyeing the three women before them warily.

"Suspicious," Georgie supplies, evidently realizing she and her friends, while by all appearances may seem non-threatening, are not presumed innocent. "But curious enough to see what I have to offer for food and music."

She begins to move slowly forward, and I watch her while she walks. She looks like she's just come from an office job. Pearl earrings and a crisp blazer. Clean, not a speck of dirt or blood on her. Where in the hell did these people come from?

"I do hope the records are music," she says firmly. "I don't accept spoken word. If you're out here, you know you can take care of yourselves, and I like that. I don't care to share this with the weak."

"Good," Maggie says flatly, raising her gun, prompting Rosita and I out of hiding.

The two of us move forward, guns aimed and ready to fire the moment any of the three strangers become hostile. Georgie turns to regard Rosita and I with a pleasant smile -which neither of us bother returning- while we disarm Hilda and Midge. Neither of them protest and I move on to Georgie.

"None for me," she informs me, nonchalantly waving me away. 

I scowl and pat her down anyway. She's clean, not even a knife. I nod to Maggie, then step aside.

"Give us what you have," Maggie commands.

"I'm afraid I can't do that," Georgie chuckles. "I come bearing knowledge to trade. Essential knowledge for the future, primarily in my head, and, uh, I prefer to keep that where it is."

"You're trading knowledge," Michonne says, squinting at the woman.

"That's what I have," Georgie explains. "I've made the same offer before. Fill the crates, get the knowledge. Simple as that. It's not a trick, just a fair trade. I promise you."

"It's an act of benevolence," Hilda adds.

"An act of benevolence won't feed our people," I hiss, unimpressed. "Maggie, this is horse shit. Let's-"

"Adie," Maggie silences me, turning her attention back to the goon squad. "Why would you do that?"

"What else  _ should _ I do?" Georgie counters.

"Rosita," Maggie sighs.

Rosita moves to the van, pulling the door open to inspect the contents.

"Uh, what's in there isn't part of the deal," Georgie protests.

"There is no deal," Maggie snaps.

"How many communities have you found?" Rosita demands, finished with her search.

"Communities like yours?" Georgie questions. "Not many at all. And not one for a very long time. What you have is special, unusual. The dead have brought out our best and worst, and the  _ worst _ has been outpacing the best lately, but that won't last forever."

"It  _ won't, _ " Midge backs her up.

" _ If, _ perhaps, people can believe in people again, four crates of goods is worth far less than a sustainable future and perhaps an exercise in trust."

Her eyes flicker between me and Maggie, seemingly amused by our matching glares.

"I know," she says with a smile. "Trust probably sounds like a made up word now, like flibberschticky."

"Or…  _ klompf, _ " Hilda adds, chuckling.

"Or  _ moisture, _ " Midge blurts.

Georgie turns to glare at her companion, evidently as startled and annoyed at her stupidity as I am.

"Stop," Enid hisses. "Okay, this isn't real. No way anyone survives going around doing what you say you're doing."

"But we do," Georgie nods. "And we will, because I can divine that you are a  _ fine _ group." 

I scoff, ready to take our four crates of goods we don't have to waste on bullshit and get back home.

"Manners notwithstanding," Georgie adds pointedly, scowling at me.

"We can make a deal," Michonne mutters to Maggie.

"No," Maggie says firmly. "These people and their van are comin' with us back to Hilltop."

"Are you insane?" I splutter.

Apparently so. Because we do indeed get in our car and lead Georgie, and Tweedledee and Tweedledum, right through our gates. I don't think they're a threat. But… they're three extra mouths to feed and we're already at quarter rations. We can't take anyone else in. Not now. The inn is fucking full. I voice all this to Maggie on the way back, but she's adamant in her decision.

"Maggie, I really don't think-" I cut myself off, spotting Jerry on the steps of Barrington House as we pull through the gates. "Wait, Jerry's supposed to be on lookout."

I hurl myself from the SUV and sprint towards him, Maggie on my heels, while the others get our tagalongs situated.

"Jerry!" I bark breathlessly. "What happened? Where's Daryl?"

"Dude, breathe," he soothes, he, Maggie, and I heading into Maggie's office.

"Where's Daryl?" I repeat firmly.

"Dude," he says, dragging out the word. "He's not back yet, but he will be. Chill."

"Chill?!" I shriek, suddenly so irrationally angry I want to tear the skin from my body.

"Jerry," Maggie says quietly, placing a comforting hand on my elbow. "What's goin' on?"

"The handoff horn started up, but no confirmation hits," he informs us, referring to the system Maggie put in place to sound the alarm if the Saviors were headed our way.

Lookouts are stationed every half mile out, as many as we can spare. Daryl's out there. If a lookout spots anything coming our way, they're supposed to blast their car horn to warn the next closest lookout and haul ass back here.

"Saviors could've slowed their roll," Jerry theorizes. "Let 'em. We'll slow 'em down more."

"That's good," Maggie nods. "Be dark soon. Get people ready. You know what to do."

"What to do?" I question, raking my hands through my hair as Jerry heads back outside.

Before Maggie can answer me, Michonne stomps into the office.

"We should make the deal and let them go before the Saviors get here," she insists.

"I can't let her go," Maggie argues. "Not with what they have. I got too many mouths to feed."

"And now you have three more," I point out.

"They have  _ crates _ of food in that van," Maggie shakes her head. "People here could be starving soon."

"So we're gonna take it?" I demand. "What, are we gonna kill 'em for it? Or are you plannin' on tryin' to bring 'em into the fold?"

"Maggie's right," Enid announces dutifully from the doorway. "We take their stuff."

" _ That's not who we are, _ " I spit emphatically.

"If we don't, someone else will!" Enid snaps. "Someone else'll kill 'em. It's a miracle they're still alive, anyways."

"Look, Enid," I sigh. "I  _ agree. _ But, even though they shouldn't be, they  _ are _ alive. We don't kill people who aren't a threat. That's not who we are."

"The Saviors are on their way," Enid says heavily. "We're gonna fight, and some of us will die, so why should we give a shit about people who don't give a shit about themselves?"

She's shouting now, her grief for Carl and worry for the rest of us turning to anger.

"I mean, out there living like that?" She demands. "We take their stuff, and we use it. And we stop pretending that things just work out. They don't."

"Carl rescued Siddiq, and now we have a doctor, and we have a  _ friend, _ " Michonne tells her, unphased, taking the gun from Enid's hand. "Carl was  _ brave. _ "

"And now he's  _ dead, _ " Enid hisses, tears welling in her eyes as she inches closer to Michonne.

"Step back," Michonne orders softly.

Enid whirls and stomps from the room, slamming the door behind her. I sink into one of the armchairs furnishing Maggie's office, dropping my head into my hands. She's still just a kid. She's a kid who just lost her boyfriend. I have to remind myself of that. Her emotional outbursts may be inconvenient, but she's entitled to them.

"Things don't just work out," Maggie points out, breaking the silence that fell over us in the wake of Enid's tantrum.

"No," Michonne breathes, her own tears now escaping. "No, they don't. But I think he knew that. He didn't give up on who Rick wanted him to be. And we  _ can't _ on who he wanted us to be. We can't."

With that, she turns to leave, but pauses for a moment at my side.

"He wrote you a letter," she announces, producing a folded sheet of paper from her back pocket and placing it in my hands.

She leaves then, Maggie and I both silent as I stare down at the piece of paper in my hands. My name is scrawled across the front, and I run a fingertip along the indentations of each tiny, blue-inked letter. I can't read it. Not yet.

"Excuse me," I stammer, rising abruptly from my seat and nearly sprinting up the stairs to the room Maggie had assigned me and Daryl.

I collapse onto the bed, the world around me blurring as I stare at the letter. I can't. I still can't accept that he's gone. That his final words to me are all contained here on this piece of paper. It still feels like he's here. Reading this… that would make it real. I'm not ready. Not yet. I slip the letter into the drawer of the nightstand beside the bed, claw the tears from my eyes, and get up to go to war. The Saviors are coming.

I stumble into Maggie on my way down the stairs. She's carrying a crate full of records. I guess she's decided we're not just gonna murder Georgie and her guards after all.

"I was just comin' to find you," she murmurs, holding up the crate. "I just wanted to ask you if you like any of these before I give 'em away."

I stare at her blankly.

"The records," she clarifies. "I know you… you don't sing much these days, but I thought maybe if you had music to sing along to…"

She trails off and I'm stunned. My fingers still itch for a guitar sometimes, but… listening to an actual record isn't something I'd even considered a possibility in a damn long time. I flip through the records gingerly. The Beatles, Chopin, Lionel Richie…

"I didn't touch Tom Waits or Johnny Cash," she informs me softly. "Those were… those were Beth's favorites and I know you like 'em, too"

"Thank you," I breathe softly, tears welling in my eyes as I pluck a John Denver record from the crate. "My… my mama loved John."

I trail her to her office, where she sets John Denver's greatest hits aside, then follow her out to deliver the crate to Georgie.

"No spoken word?" Georgie clarifies as Maggie places the records at her feet.

"I'm agreein' to your deal," Maggie nods. "We'll fill your four crates, then you can go. You're gonna want that to be sooner than later."

"I accept," Georgie says, standing. "But I'm changing the terms. This one, no more. In addition, you can have a sizeable portion of my food stores."

She nods at Hilda and Midge, the two of them rising to collect the food from their van. I fight the urge to cheer.

"From the looks of things around here, you need it far more than we do," she continues.

"You're givin' us food?" Maggie questions, disbelief lacing her voice.

Georgie simply nods.

"In exchange for what?" Maggie demands.

"Records and good faith," Georgie says simply. "To be clear, this isn't a gift. It's barter. I'll be back. Maybe not for a while, but I will, and by then I expect great things."

She steps to the back of their van to retrieve something.

"Here…" she says, rummaging around in the trunk before turning back to Maggie with a binder in her hands. "...is the aforementioned key to a future. Inside, there are handwritten plans for windmills, watermills, silos, hand-drawn schematics, guides to refining grain, creating lumber, aqueducts… a book of medieval human achievement so we may have a future from our past."

"Shut the fuck up," I breathe, eyeing the binder in awe.

"You really are rude, my dear," Georgie says with a grin. "I'm afraid you won't find anything about manners in there, but I hope it serves you well."

"You said this was all in your head," I murmur, glancing at the bespectacled woman.

"Yes, I know," she says. "The originals are in my head, but I made photocopies. Still, it's been an evolving document since the copy shop."

"Thank you," Maggie tells her emphatically, clutching the book in her hands.

"Build this place up," Georgie says firmly. "I want those other crates filled when I get back. Cheeses for Hilda, pickles for Midge."

"We'll see what we can do," Maggie agrees with a smile.

"You  _ will, _ " Georgie says sincerely.

She turns abruptly and climbs into the van with her companions and they're off, leaving us with several large totes filled with food and the material needed for us to learn how to thrive. We don't have to just survive anymore. We're gonna win. We  _ will _ beat the Saviors. And there's gonna be something after.


	98. Bakin' Cookies and Shit

**Chapter 98**

Shortly after Georgie and her goons left, Daryl and the others, all except for Rick, who is still god fucking knows where, returned and we made a plan. We’re ready for this battle and we’re gonna win. The horns went off hours ago, we know they’re coming. I don't know what the hell the hold up is, but, if nothing else, it's offered us enough time to get the children and people who are not fighters inside and I'm grateful for that. Daryl’s back out there, watching for them. All I can think about is what happens if he doesn’t come back. I don’t know how the hell I could do this without him. I'm standing beside Maggie on the steps of Barrington House, the night getting colder and darker around us, when Jerry gives the signal.

“Here we go," Maggie murmurs, more to herself than me.

I nod anyway, double checking the safety on my gun just as the rumbling engines come to an abrupt halt. I can't help my self-satisfied smirk as I imagine the annoyance on Negan's face right now. They'd likely planned on plowing right through our gates. We'd anticipated that, driving nails through two long pieces of plywood and laying them across the path several yards from our gates. I sprint down the steps and into position behind one of the cars we'd scattered strategically throughout the yard.

A few minutes later, my favorite sound in the world reaches my ears. Daryl's engine, along with a steady hail of gunfire. The gates swing open and he comes roaring inside, skidding to halt a few feet from where I'm standing and hurling himself from the bike, ducking for cover beside me. The moment he's clear, a school bus from The Kingdom we'd armored hurtles across the path, and the Saviors vehicles, which we'd planned on inevitably following Daryl inside when our gates opened, crash into the bus.

"Now!" Maggie cries.

It's chaos, but it's a chaos we're used to at this point. Bodies are dropping, nearly all of them Saviors. We're winning. And then arrows come sailing through the air, arcing towards the porch.

"Lookouts, fall back!" Maggie roars. "Front line, give 'em cover!"

She ducks into the house with the hostages and a couple guards.

"C'mon," Daryl urges, the two of us working our way across the yard towards the gates, ducking behind cars as we go.

We manage to stay together until a sudden burst of gunfire sends us diving for cover in opposite directions. I hit the ground hard and scramble beneath a truck, shooting at the legs of the Savior who'd shot. He goes down and I fire a round into his head before rolling out from under the truck, springing to my feet and searching the yard for Daryl. I can't see him and my heart plummets. Shit. I can't panic. I can't. There's a plan and I have to trust that.

I run backwards towards the house, spraying bullets as I go. I make my way onto the porch and duck behind the sheets of metal we'd attached to the railing. Bullets are ricocheting off the metal, and I silently thank whoever's listening that it holds. The bullets quit coming and I peek over the railing. I'm clear. I pop back up and aim, shooting out the headlights on the army of vans and utility vehicles the Saviors had rolled up in.

"Adie!" Maggie hisses from the window. "Now."

I nod, holstering my gun, reaching into my pockets for the grenades safely stowed in the depths. I pull the pin and fling the first one into the yard, then a second and third while Carol, Rosita, and Ezekiel continue to fire into the Saviors' headlights. The yard goes dark and the gunfire finally ceases, a deafening silence in its wake. I duck and wait. They're not gone and this isn't over. Daryl, Michonne, and the others should be in position. We'd backed several cars up to the house, the ones with the brightest headlights. We're faking the assholes out. Just when their eyes adjust to the moonlight, we're gonna hit 'em with the high beams and start shooting. They're moving, all of 'em in a big cluster, towards the house. Dumbasses. If they had any sense at all, they'd be spread out.

One Savior begins to whistle. Just one. It's not nearly so terrifying when it's not a hundred of 'em, whistles all echoing and bouncing off of each other like the night we lost Abe and Glenn. The lights flicker on and that's our cue. I rest my gun atop the porch railing and open fire, bullets flying from the windows at the face of the house as well.

It's working. They're retreating. I can't let 'em get away and neither, apparently, can Maggie. She and I fly across the yard and out the gates side by side, Rick meeting us somewhere along the way, firing until our clips are both emptied and still…  _ still _ they get away. Two cars, maybe more, Simon, Dwight, that bitch Arat, and several others disappearing into the night.

"I wanted them dead," Maggie says breathlessly, angry tears streaming down her cheeks. " _ All  _ of them. Negan most of all."

"Yeah," Rick says heavily. "Me too."

"Did either of you  _ see _ him?" I question, my own heaving breaths turning into fog in the cold night air.

"He wasn't here," Rick informs us. "I saw 'im out there. I broke away and tried to kill 'im. I didn't, but I tried."

"Thank you," Maggie sniffles.

"We're gonna get 'im," I promise her. "We're gonna get all of 'em. Not today, not tomorrow, right?"

Rick's eyes meet mine and I nod. I mean it. However long it takes,  _ whatever _ it takes… they don't get to live. I take Maggie's hand in mine and squeeze. We're not gonna stop until the last one falls.

*Daryl's POV*

Adie appears to be attempting to make up for the rest she got yesterday by making damn sure she don't rest at all today. She's all over the yard, dragging fallen Saviors to the pile of enemy dead, gathering spent bullet shells, helping move the cars back into their proper positions. She's doing more than she should, like she always does. Tara's out here helping with cleanup, too. She'd got hit last night. Dwight shot an arrow into her. Guess he switched sides again when he figured out the Savior who knew he was a rat never made it back to Negan. I'm gonna string that sumbitch up by his toes, leave him hanging for the walkers.

"Hey," I bark as Tara climbs out of an old Ford she'd just parked. "You shouldn't be out here."

"Oh, it's just… it's just a scratch," she sighs. "I can help."

"What if it wasn't?" I question.

"Then it'd be my own damn fault," she scowls. "He's back with them because of me."

"No, he's back with 'em 'cause that's who he is," I argue.

"We… we got lucky," she says insistently. "Finding Maggie… Rick. It could've been different. It was for me, when I was with the Governor."

"Yeah, but you weren't one of 'em."

I remember when we found out where Glenn had picked her up. Tara was with the Governor's army, came with him to force us to give him the prison. Didn't work out that way. She and Glenn escaped together, found Maggie and made it to Terminus. Tara was talking about how  _ Brian _ told them they might have to kill, made it sound like it wasn't exactly what he wanted. Adie wanted to know who the hell Brian was and when she found out it was what her dad was calling himself those days, she'd barked out a laugh that turned into tears and eventually just silence. Tara damn near shit a brick when we told her who Adie is, how evil Philip Blake really was, falling all over herself with tear-soaked apologies. Adie told her the same thing I'm saying now. She ain't him.

"But I was  _ with _ them," she insists. "Your brother, too."

"My brother?" I question derisively. "My brother ran the wrong way his whole life. If he were here, if I stuck with 'im when he left,  _ we'd _ be with the Saviors, too. Or some other group just like 'em. But I'd've figured out who they were jus' like you did."

"Maybe that's what happened to Dwight."

"Is that before or after he killed your girl?" I demand. "Or is that all square now?"

"It is."

I don't believe it for a goddamn second. Dwight is the reason Denise ain't here with us. He don't get to live.

"Look, I might hate him forever, but he saved my life," she continues. " _ And  _ Adie's."

"No, he tried to kill you last night," I counter.

"When we were in the woods, when we were coming here, I  _ saw  _ him try and help us win," she insists.

"Yeah," I hiss. "I saw what I saw, too."

I stomp away from her, not wanting to hear any more redemption bullshit from one of the only people I thought I could count on to want Dwight dead no matter what. No matter how this ends. He killed her girl, tried to kill  _ her _ last night. He made my life hell for days on end, trying to break me like he broke.

"Daryl!" Enid hollers, breaking me from my thoughts as she comes bounding across the yard to my side.

"'Sup?"

"I was looking for you," she says breathlessly. "Adie needs you at the infirmary."

"What?" I demand, whirling around and moving to sprint to the medical trailer. "What happened?"

"Nothing!" She assures me, grabbing my elbow before I make it a full step. "Nothing, she's fine, she's just… just go."

She pushes me gently towards the trailer. If Adie's fine, why the hell is she at the infirmary? I rush inside, giving a quick nod to Carol, who is stationed at Tobin's bedside, and head to where Adie is sitting cross-legged on a bed, listening intently to Siddiq.

"What's goin' on?" I demand, searching her for any sign of illness or physical distress.

"Daryl," she greets me, breaking into a grin that's just as goddamn beautiful now as the first time I saw it and all the times in between. "Siddiq… uh, he offered to do an ultrasound, now that him and Dr. Dana have everybody else patched up."

An ultrasound. After the attack last night… I hadn't been thinking about the possibility of seeing our kid. When we got here and saw that Gabriel and Carson ain't, it didn't even register that we got Siddiq and the doctor from The Kingdom. I'm nervous. Seeing it… that's gonna make it real. I ain't Rick, I ain't father material. How the hell am I gonna do this? I'm suddenly aware of the silence. Adie's uncertain face and Siddiq, just standing there expectantly with a tube and some kind of weird remote control looking thing in his hands.

The remote thing is attached to a cord extending from what looks like a computer on steroids, the monitor showing nothing but a big, black window with the words 'Baby Dixon' printed in white on the right hand side. I nod, moving to sit at the end of the bed while Adie rolls her shirt up. I stare at her stomach, unable to keep from searching for any sign that she's got something growing in there. If there is, I don't see it. Her stomach is as flat and smooth as it's always been. A little bit too flat, really. She ain’t eating enough. But maybe that test was wrong. Maybe she ain't pregnant, maybe we don't gotta worry about a baby after all.

*Adrienne's POV*

"This is going to be cold," Siddiq warns me, then squeezes a blob of clear, viscous jelly onto my stomach, just below my navel.

It is cold, but I hardly notice it. I do notice Daryl's eyes, practically glued to my exposed stomach. Probably looking for a bump. He won't find one. I've looked, standing sideways in front of the bathroom mirror, poking and prodding at my gut, trying to see or feel even the slightest difference. There's nothing. No bump, no swelling, no visible signs at all. Maybe the test was a false positive. Maybe we don't need to worry about how the hell we're gonna take care of a baby after all.

"All right," Siddiq murmurs, his eyes on the monitor in front of him while he moves the probe around on my skin.

Daryl and I exchange a glance. He looks just as nervous as I feel. There's a strange sound coming from the computer, like that whooshing noise you get in your ears while underwater. Nothing that sounds remotely like...

Oh.

"There we go," Siddiq says, the ghost of a smile on his lips as the unmistakable sound of a heartbeat filters from the speakers. "The heartbeat is good. Clear, strong. And right here... is your baby."

"Holy shit," I whisper, eyeing the screen.

There it is, a little clump of invading flesh just floating around in my body. I reach for Daryl's hand, not quite daring to look at him just yet, while Siddiq softly narrates what we're seeing on the screen. A healthy baby. Ten weeks, by his best guess, but don't hold him to that. Ten weeks… son of a bitch, this must have happened long before I started  _ worrying _ it was gonna happen, maybe even the first time. I don't trust my voice enough to speak.

I'm terrified… but relieved and… and disappointed and elated and so damn nauseous I could hurl right here on poor Siddiq. Gathering myself, I finally lift my eyes to Daryl's.

He's crying. Openly, just letting the tears fall as he stares in awe at the screen. His lip is trembling and when he tears his eyes from the monitor to meet mine, he breaks into a smile so damn beautiful it hurts.

"Congratulations," Siddiq nods with a small smile, handing me a towel to wipe off with.

While I clean up, Siddiq's fingers clatter over the keys. Whatever combination he'd entered causes a whirring sound, a printer below the monitor spitting out a photo, which Daryl snatches before Siddiq can, holding it less than an inch from his teary eyes and continuing to stare.

*Daryl's POV*

"I told you it was gonna be your turn," Michonne murmurs quietly, a small smile tugging at her lips while she eyes the sonogram.

"Yeah," Adie says, her weak smile not quite reaching her eyes.

After the ultrasound, she'd silently led me into the house where she'd immediately set about helping Rick and Michonne remove two by fours from the windows. There’s a lot more of us here now with Alexandria reduced to a pile of ashes, more than can reasonably be accommodated by the few trailers that survived the grenades last night and the other rooms, so we're all gonna pile into the house tonight. It's gonna get hot, so we're de-boarding the windows and keeping them and the doors open. Adie won't look at the picture. She's hardly said a word and I know it's 'cause she's scared, but… I ain't. Not anymore.

Our baby has a heartbeat. I'm gonna make damn sure that heart keeps beating for as long as I can. Did it with Ass Kicker, and Adie… she don't realize it, but she's already a mom in a way. She's tough as hell and I’d hate to be on her bad side, but she's still soft. She's who we all go to for comfort when we need someone to just hold us and listen. She ain't far along, by the time the baby's here the Saviors will be long gone and we can raise our kid right, like the way our parents didn’t or couldn’t. Maggie's baby, too, and Ass Kicker and any other kids that come along. We're gonna make a life for them that ain't just running and fighting.

Maggie's got that key book. We're gonna build this place. We're gonna rebuild Alexandria, The Kingdom. Eventually our people come filtering inside, laying out blankets and pillows, settling in for the night as the sun sets. It's only then that Adie retreats to our room, dodging the many congratulators and well wishers. She don't like everyone knowing and, as I'm swarmed with people wanting to see Baby Dixon, I don't blame her.

*Adrienne's POV*

Baby Dixon. That's the dominant topic downstairs. My baby. We just buried nearly a dozen of our own, we have more injured, we're preparing for another attack… and people wanna talk about my baby? What the hell for? Maggie doesn't have to deal with this bullshit. Maybe I'm just a novelty. They're used to Maggie being around, the news of her pregnancy is old. Maybe it’ll only be like this tonight and then the excitement will wear off. Maybe everyone just wants to know how I managed to 'rope in a stud like Dixon', like that Gina bitch actually had the audacity to ask.

Gina's relatively new to the Hilltop, having arrived with some of the other Kingdom survivors. She can't fight or grow food or do anything particularly useful, which I guess is a byproduct of being one of those girls so pretty they never have to work for a damn thing in life 'cause there's always a small army of men around who think they might have a shot if they pamper her. You know the type.

I hate her. 

Every time she looks at Daryl I wanna remove her eyes from her sockets. She's down there right now, practically hanging on his shoulder and giggling and congratulating him on Fetus like she had shit to do with it. Her and twelve other people, all fawning over a grainy, white blob on a black background. My baby. I'm so conflicted. I'm not like Maggie. I don't know how to be a mom. I find myself longing for Lori, strangely enough. She and I rarely saw eye to eye, but she was a fierce mother.

Thinking of Lori reminds me of Carl's letter, still tucked away in the nightstand. Shit… I need to read it. Before something happens and I never get the chance. He's gone and ignoring the letter won't change that. I retrieve the folded up slip of paper from the drawer, kicking my boots off and padding over to the bed. I sink down onto it, cross-legged, and unfold the letter.

_ Adie- _

_ I remember the first time I saw you. My mom was sad back then and I don't think she had it in her to fight. I thought dad was dead. Mom and Shane didn't talk about it, they just kept trying to protect me from the truth. Trying to be strong for me. _

_ I was in the back seat, watching the trees fly by, just listening to the explosions coming from the city, trying not to think about dad or walkers or how mom might be sad forever. Then I saw you. I still don't know why, but I started yelling at Shane to pull over. I think he only did it because he thought I was having some kind of fit or something, but he did it. You were just lying there in the road, like you were waiting to die. _

_ He got out to talk to you. I thought you were crazy. I didn't understand back then, but you were sad, too. You were sad, but not like my mom was. You were sad like me and that night, when I sat by you, I just felt like you got it. You were the only person who never tried to make it go away. You didn't try to make me talk about it, but I still knew I could if I'd wanted to. _

_ You're not sad anymore, Adie. Do you remember that deer we saw before the farm? I got shot and I don't remember a lot before waking up at Hershel's, but I remember seeing that deer and it was so close. So alive. The living can have this world again. It doesn't have to be like this forever. But you have to stop fighting each other. Stop fighting or the dead win. _

_Help my dad, Adie. Help him find peace so our family can live. So Judith can grow up in a world with pancakes on Sundays and movie nights and funerals once every few years instead of every other week. A world where the Dixon kids can grow up feeling safe and warm and happy._ _It can be that way again. I know it can._

_ I love you. _

_ -Carl _

_ P.S. I know you're pregnant, I saw the test in the trash. Don't be scared. You're gonna be a great mom. My mom thought that, and she knew about that stuff. _

"Adie?"

I didn't hear Daryl come in, but he's here. He sinks down beside me, softly stroking the tears from my eyes with his thumbs.

"You jus' read that now?" He questions gently, eyeing the letter in my hands.

"I couldn't," I croak, tears still steadily flowing down my cheeks. "I… I guess I thought holdin' onto it kept him from really bein' gone. That I could, I could keep him."

"Readin' that don't mean you're lettin' 'im go, Adie," he murmurs. "It don't."

"He wants us to stop fightin'," I sniff, folding up the letter and tucking it into my pocket. "To find peace. Daryl… I don't think we can. I don't think we  _ get _ to, not with the Saviors around."

He nods, considering. I rise, removing my weapons and placing them on the nightstand beside Daryl's bow before padding across the room to shut off the light. I crawl into bed, curling into Daryl atop the covers.

"We ain't gon' be fightin' forever," he murmurs. "We're gon' get 'im, get 'em all."

I nod, resting my head on his chest. I have to believe he's right. We can't keep surviving like this. There's gotta be something better. I start to drift, letting my mind wander while I listen to Daryl's steady breaths.

"Gina thinks you're a stud," I blurt, suddenly recalling my earlier annoyance.

"The hell's that mean?" He questions, fingers idly trailing over my hip.

"It means she likes you," I inform him.

"Oh," he grunts. "I guess she's all right."

"No," I shake my head, stifling a giggle at his complete ignorance when it comes to women. "I mean she  _ really _ likes you."

" _ Oh, _ " he mutters, and I can almost hear the blush coloring his ears.

"She  _ wants _ you," I tease, pressing my lips to his neck.

"Stop," he scoffs.

"She does," I shrug, brushing the hair from his eyes. "Stud."

"Mrs. Dixon?" He questions, catching my hand in his and pressing his lips to the back of my palm.

"Yes?" I ask, flushing in pleasure at the name.

"Shut the hell up," he murmurs, running a trail of kisses from my hand up my arm to my shoulder, finally landing on my lips.

Getting me to shut the hell up isn't an easy feat, but… his methods are damn effective.

*Daryl's POV*

Adie ain't sleeping. We ain't talked about the ultrasound yet, and I don't wanna push her, but I know it's bothering her. I trail a fingertip down her spine, her bare skin almost translucent even in the near pitch dark. She shivers at the contact, nuzzling my chest.

"You all right?" I murmur, kissing the top of her head.

She's quiet for a moment, then sighs.

"I'm scared," she whispers. "I never… I never wanted to have kids. I just… I'm not that person. I'm not the mom type, you know? The Carols and Loris of the world, helpin' their kids with homework and, and… bakin' cookies and shit. I only know how to do one thing, Daryl, I  _ only _ know how to fight. How the hell am I gonna help you raise a baby?"

"You think bein' a mom's about homework 'n cookies?" I question disbelievingly. "That shit wasn't even true before all this. Bein' a mom's about... keepin' your kids safe. Fightin'. Protectin' 'em. Same shit you been doin' this whole time."

"What if it's not enough?" She breathes. "It wasn't for Carl."

"What happened to Carl…" I murmur. "Was an accident. It ain't fair. And it ain't 'cause somebody didn't do enough for 'im, neither. It jus' happened."

She's quiet, either unable to argue or she knows I'm right. Carl ain't here 'cause his parents raised him right. He was a good kid, died fighting for what he thought was right. Ain't any better way to go. Not anymore.

"I love you," she sighs, her breath whispering across my skin.

"I love you, too," I whisper, tightening my arms protectively around her.

I'm gonna love her forever.


	99. We're Gonna End It, Right?

**Chapter 99**

*Adrienne's POV*

People are screaming.

"Adie, stay here!" Daryl snarls, already up and out the door.

Like hell. I hurl myself from the bed, yanking on my clothes and roughly shoving my feet into my boots before snatching two of my knives from the nightstand, hurtling out the door and down the stairs after him. Walkers. There are walkers  _ inside _ the house. But the gates are closed, aren't they? There's no time to ponder the how, a walker I recognize vaguely as one of the Hilltop runners is trying to make a meal out of me. I plunge my knife into his skull, shoving him aside and moving on to the next one. These walkers… these are all our own people.

"Outside, now!" I order, shepherding several screaming women towards the door. "Out, go!"

I whirl around, plunging my knife into body after body. These were our friends. How the hell did this happen? There's not a single walker here I don't recognize as someone I knew. Rick, Morgan, Daryl and I have cleared the main hall, but the horrified screams of our people are still reverberating through the air. This isn't over.

"The hell happened?" Daryl demands, staring in disbelief at the faces we all recognize.

"I don't know," Rick mutters. "Maybe walkers got in."

"When?" I question. "Gate's secure."

"Maybe durin' the fight," Morgan suggests.

"These are all our own people, though," Daryl points out.

I take off towards the other rooms, ducking into each one, the others on my heels. We're clear, only one room left. We tear inside just in time to see Tobin's body fall from Carol's arms.

"You all right?" Daryl questions breathlessly, searching her for injuries.

"Yeah," she breathes. "Just… he wasn't bit. But he turned."

"But his injury wasn't serious," I blurt, staring at Tobin's gore covered corpse. "Nothin' he'd've  _ died _ from."

"Negan's bat," Rick says heavily. "When I was out there with 'im, it was covered in walker blood. I just thought he'd crossed some. But maybe…"

"Shit," I hiss. "They get enough of us with weapons covered in walker guts, they don't have to come back and finish us off. We're killin' each other for 'em."

"It's the fever…" Bruce pants from the bed.

He'd been hurt in the fight, a nasty graze from an arrow across his forearm. Oh, no…

"That's what it is," he continues. "It makes sense now."

He glances at his bandaged arm, beginning to cry as he realizes what it means. He's infected. As good as dead already.

"One of you…" he starts, voice breaking as Maggie steps forward to take his hand in hers. "You're gonna have to do it. I can't. You gotta do it for me. Please."

He dissolves into tears and my heart aches. If we'd known, we could've saved him. Amputated his arm. He'd have had to learn to live without a hand, but he'd be living. Maggie makes it quick, pressing her gun to his temple and pulling the trigger. Yet another friend we get to bury.

Maggie takes a team out to check the yard and, with heavy hearts, Rick, Daryl, and I make our way to Maggie's room. She'd left Rosita, Enid, and Tara to guard several of our people who'd managed to take shelter in there from the shitstorm out here. Rick storms into the room, startling Enid and Rosita, both of whom aim their guns at the man walking through the door before realizing who it is.

"Hey," he greets, striding inside as the addled women lower their weapons.

"Good out there?" Rosita questions.

"House is clear," he confirms.

"Wouldn't call things good, though," I mutter bitterly.

"How'd this happen?" Tara asks, eyes on Daryl as he eases the door shut.

"Um…" he sighs. "The Saviors did somethin' to their weapons. Everyone they cut up, or got shot… they all got sick. Some of 'em turned."

There's a heavy silence, all eyes on Tara. Dwight grazed her in the fight. She doesn't look sick, though.

"What?" Enid demands. "No."

"Okay," Tara says, resigned.

"When we were out there, and you said you were done waitin'..." Daryl murmurs, guilt welling in his eyes. "I could've killed 'im. I should've."

"No," Tara argues. "He wanted to be here with us. And no matter what he did or how hard he tried, I wanted him dead. I just couldn't let it be anything else. Karma's a bitch, right?"

Karma. Karma doesn't have shit to do with shit. If it did, Negan and his bitch brigade would be dead and Glenn, Abe, Sasha, Carl… they'd all be here. _Beth._ Hershel, T-Dog, Bob, Ty, Noah… they'd all _be_ here. But they're not. They're gone and I am so fucking _tired_ of losing people.

*Daryl's POV*

Somehow during last night's shitshow, Henry, Benjamin's kid brother from The Kingdom, managed to get a hold of a rifle and threatened to shoot up the Savior hostages if they didn't tell him who killed his brother. He's gone and so are most of the Saviors, including Gregory. Adie's beside herself. She ain't talking. She's just digging graves. She's pissed. I ain't sure I've ever seen her this pissed.

Can't say I blame her. We've lost nearly two dozen of our friends in under two days and the Saviors are still alive. I know better than to argue with her, try to get her to sit down, stop working, so I'm keeping my distance. I'm sitting in the back of a truck bed, sharpening my bolts. I could probably be doing something a little more useful, but from here I can give Adie her space and still keep an eye on her. Ain't never thought I'd be the type… overprotective, scared of losing anybody besides Merle, not giving a fuck if I look whipped.

"Trouble in paradise?" A nasal voice floats into my ears, a hand suddenly on my shoulder.

Gina. Can't be much older than 21, clearly ain't never worked a day in her life, even now. She's from The Kingdom and I think she's only survived this long 'cause Ezekiel's generous with his protection. I remember Adie's comment last night. Gina called me a  _ 'stud.' _ I still ain't clear on what the hell that means, but I ain't interested in finding out, neither.

"Huh?" I grunt, eyes on Adie as I shrug away from Gina's hand.

"C'mon," she wheedles, leaning over the side of the truck bed. "You can tell me. I can keep all kinds of secrets."

"You need somethin'?" I question, eyeing her briefly before looking back to Adie.

"I can think of a few things," she giggles, the sound jarring and uncomfortable. "But we can talk about that later."

"Gina!" Tara's sharp voice rings out, tone harsh as she approaches. "Rick and Ezekiel could use a few more volunteers for Henry's search party."

"I'm busy," Gina snips, her voice taking on a distinctly whiny tone.

"What, flirting with married men?" Tara questions nonchalantly.

Gina bristles, huffing angrily and stalking away. Flirting. That's what that was, then. Weird.

"Hey," I greet Tara, eyeing her appraisingly.

She don't look sick. Maybe Dwight's bow ain't been loaded with tainted bolts. Maybe she's gonna be okay. Maybe her wound was shallow enough she just shook off the infection.

"Hey," she murmurs, noticing my stare. "It's been over a day. Still not sick. Doc says I'm cool."

"You're a tough son of a bitch," I mutter, turning back to my arrows.

"Daryl, it just means that Dwight shot me with a clean arrow," she points out.

"Or it means you got lucky," I counter. "Could be anything. It's not like a bite. Sometimes nothin' happens."

"Daryl-" She shakes her head, starting to protest, but I don't give a shit.

"Look, if Dwight knew… could've warned us, could've sent a message," I interrupt.

"Well, maybe he couldn't."

"He let a whole day go by while our people lay around dyin'."

"Everybody else in the battle who got injured got sick," she insists. "That can't be an accident."

"So he just gets a pass?" I demand softly, squinting at her. "Is that it?"

"Uh, maybe," she says defensively. "Look, you said that we might need him, and we might need him now more than ever, and what  _ I'm  _ saying is that if I had killed him… maybe  _ I  _ would be dead right now. Look, do what you gotta do. But know it's just for you. I'm out."

She's out. Just like that. After everything that sumbitch did. Killed her girl.  _ Tortured _ me. He ain't helping us 'cause he's sorry. He ain't doing this 'cause it's the right thing. He's doing this for himself.  _ He  _ wants Negan dead. He don't give a damn about nothin' else. I shake my head, then my eyes flicker back to Adie. Only she ain't there. Shit, where the hell'd she go?

*Adrienne's POV*

"The relay cars are in position," Rosita announces, entering Maggie's office.

I spent most of the morning digging. Fresh graves for our dead friends. Henry's missing, along with two thirds of the Saviors from the pen. We're low on… shit, we're low on everything. Food, fuel, water,  _ people. _ And Maggie brought me in here because 'this heat isn't good for the baby'. Everyone's walking on eggshells around me, coddling me… it just pisses me off more when it's Maggie. Like I'm somehow more fragile than she is.

"If the Saviors are coming back," Rosita continues, taking a seat on the arm of a chair as the doors burst open, Daryl striding inside. "We'll have ten, maybe fifteen minutes heads-up."

Daryl pushes the doors quietly closed, his worried gaze softening slightly when it lands on me.

"And our ammo?" Maggie questions.

"About what we thought," Dianne informs her. "Not enough to fend off another attack of that size."

"They're outsmartin' us," I scowl. "Usin’ tainted weapons, turnin' us on each other… that's smart. Our people doin' the work for 'em, savin' 'em ammo."

"Well, maybe we don't gotta worry about that no more," Daryl soothes. "At least for now. Maybe goin' hand to hand's our only option."

"You think they're low on ammo?" Rosita questions.

"Well, they must've gone through a whole bunch of it gettin' through them walkers at Sanctuary," Daryl points out.

"And there's not a lot of places to find more," Dianne muses.

The Saviors burning through their ammo taking care of the walkers and attacking us would be reassuring, if not for one thing.

"They don't  _ need _ to," I snap crankily. "They have Eugene."

" _ Mierda, _ " Rosita hisses. "They have our  _ bullet maker. _ They can _ make _ more."

"You think the Saviors have what he'd need to make 'em?" Maggie questions.

"If they don't, I know where they'd find it," Rosita huffs.

"Well, hell we waitin' on?" Daryl demands. "Let's go."

Rosita nods and I get to my feet to follow, but Daryl stops me with a look.

"Daryl," I protest, hands on my hips.

"We ain't gon do nothin' but look," he assures me.

"Yeah, unless you're seen!" I hiss. "What then?"

He and Rosita exchange a knowing glance, like I'm being  _ so  _ unreasonable. Like wanting to come along to make  _ sure _ the father of my child doesn't get himself killed is ridiculous.

"Adie…" Maggie soothes. "It wouldn't hurt to sit this one out."

My blood boils. I am so goddamn tired of these people treating me like an invalid. Like I'm not capable of keeping myself  _ and  _ my baby safe. I stalk past them all, heading for the doors.

"Where are you going?" Rosita demands, inserting herself between me and the exit.

"I am goin' to keep  _ watch, _ " I snarl angrily, staring her down. "Unless no one trusts me to do that, either? You know, maybe, maybe… maybe I'd be better off just hidin' out in my room for the next seven months, huh?"

"Adie-"

"No!" I shout, interrupting Daryl, whirling, unable to tamp down the anger roaring through my veins. "Don't  _ Adie  _ me! No one questions  _ Maggie! _ No one's, no one's waitin' around for her to do somethin' stupid, get herself hurt. Why can't y'all trust me, too?"

"Because you never think of yourself first," Maggie says flatly. "If somethin' happened out there, if a Savior started shootin' at Daryl or Rosita, you'd throw yourself right in front of that bullet without even  _ blinkin'. _ We trust you to save us  _ before  _ you save yourself and you can be pissed about that all you want, it's the truth."

I deflate, anger morphing into sadness in no time flat. Of course I'd save them first. None of this matters if I can't keep the people I love the most safe, if I can't keep  _ Daryl _ safe. I'm too selfish to pick myself first. It has nothing to do with heroism or morals or any of that bullshit. I can't live without Daryl. I won't.

"I'm keepin' watch," I spit, batting away the single tear that managed to escape my eyes. "If bullets start flyin', I  _ promise _ I'll do the right thing and  _ hide. _ Let somebody else die instead."

Daryl is staring at me, stricken. Hell, they're all looking at me like I just said something awful. Maybe I did. I don't care. I'm not taking it back. I know I'm being selfish. Petty. Immature at best. I just can't stop thinking… if Daryl doesn't come back, my baby grows up without a father. I'm not strong like Maggie. I'm  _ not. _ I  _ can't _ do this without him. God damn it, I'm pissed again. I'm so fucking confused. I collapse in on myself, helpless against the tears this time, and start to cry. Again. Daryl's at my side immediately, pulling me into his arms.

"I'm sorry," I blubber, at a loss. "I, I… I don't know why I'm like this. I'm just so damn angry all the time."

"Shh," he hushes me, smoothing my hair back from my eyes. "It's okay."

"I'll stay," I mutter, like it's really up to me. "Just please be careful."

"Adie," he murmurs, tilting my face up to look at him. "I trust you. We all do. But you gotta trust us. If you came out there with us 'n somethin' happened to you… I ain't gon' lose you. I can't."

I stare into his eyes. I  _ do _ trust him. So why is it so difficult to watch him leave? He'll come back. He always comes back to me.  _ Unless he doesn't _ , a small voice whispers in my ear, fear curling around my heart like a snake. I try to ignore it. He'll come back. I nod, leaning in for a quick kiss before he disappears.

"I love you," I whisper. "Be safe. Come back to me."

"I love you, too," he says, squeezing my shoulders before leaving the room.

Rosita touches my elbow, offering a small smile before following my husband out the door and out of my sight. I hate this. This isn't how life should be.

*Daryl's POV*

Shit. Rosita led us to an old warehouse not too far from Alexandria. Eugene and Abraham picked it out back when Abraham was alive and Eugene almost had balls. We're stationed on the top floor of the building across the street, watching as a group of Saviors place several plastic tubs filled with shells at Eugene's feet. As long as they got bullet shells and Eugene's brains, they got unlimited ammo. Unless we take 'em out. Kill 'em all and torch the sumbitch.

"Well," I grunt, passing the binoculars to Rosita. "Looks like you're right. It's up 'n runnin'."

"Yep," she murmurs bitterly, taking in the scene for herself. "Buckets of casings for Eugene to turn into hundreds of bullets."

"Let's do it now," I suggest.

We'd planned to shoot up the machinery inside if we got here before the Saviors, go back and get a group together if they were already here. But there ain't no reason we can't just take the machines out now and make a run for it. I know I promised Adie we wouldn't fight, but… she ain't here and by the time we get to Hilltop, get our people, and get a group  _ back _ here it'll be pointless. He'll already have a shit load of homemade bullets and we don't have the kinda ammo it'd take to fight that.

"We don't take out the machines," Rosita says heavily. "We take out the man."

She's right. They can find more machines. They can't find another Eugene nearly so easy. And Eugene ain't Eugene no more. He's Negan. A Savior. He was gonna die with 'em anyway.

*Adrienne's POV*

He's not back. He promised me. He  _ always  _ comes back. I couldn't sleep last night. I climbed out onto the roof and sat, watching until the sun diluted the indigo sky into shades of powder and periwinkle. He's not back. That's all I can think about, with every nervous thrum of my heart, sitting out here now with Michonne and Judy just... waiting.  _ He's not back. _

"Okay?" Judith questions, her eyes filled with concern as she looks up at me.

"I'm okay, Jude," I manage to muster a smile and she seems to accept it.

She turns her attention back to plucking bits of gravel from the ground one by one, proudly showing each one to Michonne and me before flinging it across the yard when a better one catches her eye.

"They'll be back, Adie," Michonne sighs, rubbing my knee comfortingly.

"I don't  _ want _ to be a mom," I blurt.

Shit. I didn't mean to say that out loud. Can't take it back now.

"I…" Michonne starts, then shakes her head, at a loss. "I don't think you have a choice, Adie."

"I know," I nod, glaring into the sky.

"And... I don't think you mean that," she adds, giving me a sidelong glance. "I think you're scared."

"Of course I'm scared," I snap, then soften. "I am. Daryl's not here and every time,  _ every time _ he leaves, I… I can't convince myself I'm gonna see him again _ until _ I see him again, until he's back. I can't just call him up and see where he is and he… he doesn't want me leavin' with him anymore, so I'm just stuck here waitin', waitin' to see him again."

I stand, leaving before she can reply. I don't have shit to do but wander around inside the debatable safety of the walls and wait for the father of my unborn child to come home like he promised he would. Like he always does.

*Daryl's POV*

It took all fucking night, but Eugene's out here now. Finally. There's only two guards. Cake. I fire a bolt into the one in front of Eugene while Rosita takes out the other with her knife. Easiest abduction ever. I snatch my arrow from the dead asshole on the ground, then grab Eugene by the back of his collar. I place my gun at the back of his head and march him away from the bullet factory, Rosita on our heels.

We ain't gonna kill him. We need him. We need that bullet recipe. Adie's gonna be pissed. The only bright side to this shit is maybe she'll be pissed enough to spend a while kicking the shit outta Eugene instead of yelling at me for not sticking to the plan. Eugene only manages to stay quiet for the first couple miles. His super powered brain don't function well enough to carry on conversation of any sort when he's scared, but it seems he ain't afraid no more.

"I can't help but suspect that the reason I'm bein' taken alive is," he blurts. "Despite what completely warranted bad blood exists between us, you still harbor a vestigial nostalgia for our erstwhile camaraderie."

Jesus. Why can't this dude speak like a normal goddamn person ever? I remember that first night in Gabriel's church, when he'd tried confusing Adie with all them SAT words. I still can't work out how the hell he had the sack to even  _ approach _ her, let alone just assume she'd be down to sleep with him. She'd shut him down with a few big words of her own, though, despite having consumed nearly half a bottle of communion wine. Eugene ain't as complicated as he likes to think. What he is, though, is fucking irritating. I pull my knife from my belt, debating whether or not to threaten him yet.

"And in light of that, I'm willin' to just shut my grub flap and give you your space until you see such a time as you're ready to break the ice, one traveling companion-"

He don't get to finish. I make up my mind, whirling around and grabbing the sumbitch by the front of his shirt, knife poised to strike.

"Shut your mouth," I snarl. "Before I cut your tongue out!"

Rosita grabs at the arm with the knife, but we both know she ain't gonna be able to stop me from shutting Eugene up if that's what I decide I'm doing.

"All right!" She hisses, eyes flashing as I release him. "We gotta keep going. They have to be out looking for him by now."

I scowl, glaring at the cowering man behind her. He ain't worth the trouble.

"Yeah?" I demand. "I got a  _ pregnant wife _ to get back to. He slows us down, he draws attention, he even  _ thinks  _ about  _ thinkin' _ of runnin'... I'll gut 'im. Ain't enough bullets in the world 'gon stop me."

I turn back, eyes on the road as we continue our way back to the car we'd parked five miles out.

"Thank you, I-" Eugene stutters, making the mistake of thinking Rosita's any more in his corner than I am.

"Shut up!" She snaps, grabbing him by the shoulder and shoving him along. "Let's go."

"When I told Negan I made that bullet, it was to save your life," he announces, like it makes a damn bit of difference. "I didn't think, I just acted on your behalf. And I fully expected the crack of the bat to be the last thing I heard, but that didn't happen."

Yeah, maybe it should've.

"And then I thought they would torture me," he continues. "But they didn't."

Well, ain't he a lucky one. They didn't torture him 'cause they didn't need to do nothin' 'fore he cracked.

"They gave me a chance to live," he blathers on. "And I tried to resist. I tried to rise above my biological imperative, but that is not who I am."

"I know who you are," Rosita says flatly. "You're the reason they were able to escape the Sanctuary. Everything that's happened since then, everyone who's died, that's on you. Keep moving."

We turn down a gravel road that leads to the side street where we'd parked the car. Almost there. Then it's just a 20 minute drive listening to his bullshit, but I bet I could shave that down to 10. It ain't soon enough.

"Rick's the one who pushed us all to take the Saviors on," he insists. " _ He's _ the one who jumped headlong into this shit storm with no waders."

Rosita's finally had enough of his shitty fuckin' excuses. She whirls around, pressing her gun to the underside of his jaw.

"You're selfish," she snarls. "And you're a  _ coward,  _ and you're a  _ traitor. _ You turned your back on the only friends you ever had. Shooting you in the head right here would actually make the world a better place," she shoves off of him, digging the gun into his skin before backing up. "But we're not gonna kill you," she assures him. "Not because we give a rat's ass  _ about  _ you. We just need what's in there!" She smacks the top of his head, not quite hard enough to do any real damage, but it definitely hurt. "We're gonna stick you in the darkest hole we can find, and the  _ only _ time you'll see the light of day is when we need you to teach us how to  _ do _ something," she continues, incensed. "So don't worry, you'll get what you want. You'll  _ live. _ But we're gonna force you to do something  _ useful _ with your pathetic life!"

This shuts him up for the entire last leg of the trip. When we finally get to the damn car, though, it's surrounded by walkers. Eight, nine of 'em.

"They must've heard us pull up," I observe, eyeing Rosita over my shoulder. "I got it. Watch him."

I fire bolts into the first three, bludgeon a couple more, then take my knife to the last of 'em. It takes all of three minutes, but by the time I turn back around Eugene's gone and Rosita's covered in puke. Sumbitch fucking  _ puked _ on her and ran. We track him through a fence and into an alleyway behind several municipal buildings. Piles of ashes and human bones are heaped all over the ground and looking at the tracks he left tells me he ran right through here.

"He couldn't've got far," I inform Rosita, pointing out the boot prints in the dust. "Come on."

I break into a run, Rosita right on my heels. Fuck the bullets. We find that sumbitch, he don't get another chance. He's dead.

"We can't let him get back to them!" She shouts. "If you see him, blow that pig's head off!"

*Adrienne's POV*

The gates are finally opening, but it's not anyone I wanna see. Daryl's not back. He's still not here. He promised… he  _ always  _ comes back. Jesus, where the hell is he? Our newcomer is just Gregory. Shit is going down at Sanctuary. Negan's back, alive and well. Simon, however… well, Simon's dead. Dwight sent Gregory back here with a map marking several shiny, new outposts the Saviors will be setting up tomorrow, with further details and instructions written underneath.

_ Tomorrow afternoon- _

_ NEGAN and ten men at the X. _

_ Other 11 person teams at each of the circles. _

_ END NEGAN, END the rest. _

_ END THIS. _

Damn. Dwight pulled through this time, huh? Gregory seemed to think he'd be welcomed back with open arms, rewarded for bringing us the map. Hell no. We locked him up in the pen. Alone. The Saviors who didn't run with the rest? They're ours now. They're earning their place. I pass the map back to Maggie, the two of us turning to meet Rick and Michonne as they stride curiously toward us. Maggie thrusts the map at Rick, who reads the note and unfolds it, eyeing the markings.

"What're we gonna do?" Maggie questions.

"We're gonna end it, right?" I prod, not liking the look on Rick's face.

"Yeah," Rick nods. "Yeah, we're gonna end it."

With that, he stalks off, presumably to prepare for battle. Another one. Hopefully the last. One final fight. We can get through one more. Michonne excuses herself. She's going  _ 'scavenging'. _ That's bullshit. Carl wrote a letter to Negan. I'd bet anything Michonne's leaving to make damn sure Negan hears it. One more attempt at getting him to stand down before we all go to war tomorrow. He won't. This doesn't stop until he's dead. It's not what Carl wanted, but… Carl's not here. What Carl wants for us is peace. There can be no peace until Negan's gone.

"Adie," Carol's voice breaks me from my thoughts, her hand on my shoulder. "You need to sleep. I'm not asking you, I'm telling you, and I don't give a shit how much you argue."

"But Daryl's-"

"Gonna be back," she cuts me off. "He's gonna be back and when he is, he'll come to you, wherever you happen to be when he gets here, now  _ go. _ "

And that's how I found myself being tucked into bed at dusk like a goddamn child. There's no arguing with Carol. And… I'm exhausted. I crawl into bed and fall asleep almost instantly.

*Daryl's POV*

We didn't find him.

Fuckin' coward either made it back to his buddies or he's dead, but either way we had to get back. The trip was a waste and I think Adie knew it without being told 'cause she didn't say nothin' when I fell into bed beside her after Rosita and me briefed Rick and Maggie. She just curled into my side like she does, woke up long enough to say she loves me, and went back to sleep.

It's quiet here with her. If I close my eyes, I can almost pretend it's over, like we won and we're safe. I don't want her out there tomorrow, I don't want her to fight. She's gonna go, though. I know she is, 'cause she needs to see it. She needs to see them die, needs to watch Negan go down. Ezekiel has spare armor, for her and Maggie both. But it might not be enough and I'm afraid. She thinks she can't do this without me but I'm pretty sure she's got it backwards.

*Adrienne's POV*

"Dude, put it on."

Jerry's trying to force me into an extra set of armor from the Kingdom. Extra because whoever owned it before is dead, like everything else we own. Our weapons, cars, the clothes on our backs.

"Give it to someone who needs it," I insist. "Tara or Rosita."

" _ Dude, _ " Jerry wheedles. "Arms up."

I sigh heavily, rolling my eyes and raising my arms. The armor's heavier than I thought and even though it feels selfish, there's a comfort in knowing I'm already safer just wearing it. Jerry beams, securing the straps around my waist, making sure it's snug.

"Thanks," I mutter, rolling my shoulders and falling into step beside him.

"You're welcome," he says happily, the two of us approaching the picnic table King Ezekiel has stationed himself at. "How you doin', boss?"

"If this morning is to be our last," Ezekiel muses, nodding at me in greeting. "It will be a fine morning indeed."

"This isn't the last of shit," Jerry announces, taking a seat beside the King and sharpening his battle axe.

"It could be," Ezekiel points out. "For some of our ranks. I accept that."

"I'm not accepting  _ shit, _ " Jerry insists.

"It's not simple acceptance… or pessimism, no. Not that. But to justify everything we've lost, we must risk losing everything."

"We're not losing  _ shit- _ "

"Jerry."

The King gives up when he turns to find Jerry grinning at him, the two men exchanging a fist bump. I chuckle and move on, having spotted Rick, Daryl, Carol, Rosita, Michonne, and Maggie all hunched over a map at one of the other tables.

"All right," Daryl is saying, jabbing a finger at the map. "We'll stick to this road, keep to the trees, we'll get there quicker. Plus, we can keep an eye on the road that way."

"Yeah, if they're planning anything, we'll see it," Rosita agrees.

"You think we can trust Gregory?" Michonne questions warily. "What he told us?"

"I locked him up inside the house," Maggie points out. "He knew I wouldn't let him walk around free. He knew he was comin' back to that."

"He knew he was comin' back to the winnin' side," I mutter, annoyed. "Jumpin' ship 'cause he believes we'll win."

"He doesn't believe in anythin' except himself." Maggie corrects. "And he'd have to believe in the Saviors a whole lot to send us into a trap and think it'd work out for him."

"Unless Dwight didn't tell him," Daryl suggests, draping a jacket around my shoulders. "That asshole could be settin' us up."

He could be, but I don't think so. His only reason for being alive right now is to watch the man who took away everything that mattered to him die. He wants us to win, I believe that. Before I can voice this, though, we're all distracted by Morgan. He's been messed up since he started killing again, seeing things that aren't there. It's a lot like Rick after Lori, but worse somehow. Carol scurries off to try and bring him back just as the gates open, the pen Saviors who came back and some of our people returning from clearing the walkers from our walls.

Morgan inexplicably beelines for Henry, knocking the little boy to the ground before Carol can get to them, and for a moment I'm afraid he's gonna kill the kid. Carol grabs hold of his stick, gently taking it from his hands.

"They were, uh… they were gone," Morgan stutters confusedly, eyeing the Saviors. "Him. They were comin' in."

"I asked Maggie if we could clear the walkers from the wall," Alden, the only Savior I think actually wants to change, tells him. "We drew 'em away so we wouldn't have to worry about 'em when we rolled out."

"He did," Maggie confirms.

Silence falls, the weight of what just almost happened settling over us all. Morgan could've killed the boy. Easily. And then what? There is no medication or therapy for this kind of shit anymore. We can't help him.

"Let's keep gettin' ready, everyone," Rick says finally. "First team's goin' in 20."

"He said when  _ we  _ roll out," Maggie says flatly, glaring at Alden. "You and your people aren't comin'. You can be here. But you're not us."

"Long as we got that straight," Alden quips, watching Maggie angrily stalk away.

She's right. They're not us. But maybe they could be.  _ Maybe. _ They've got a lot to prove.


	100. I'm Just Not That Into You Anymore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so... major canon divergence in this chapter. Like MAJOR. Consider yourselves warned.

**Chapter 100**

*Daryl's POV*

One more fight. We got one more in us, I know we do. Adie I think can sense the anxiety under my skin, running like an electrical current, 'cause she reaches for my hand not ten seconds after we leave the Hilltop. I lace my fingers with hers, desperately wishing she was staying behind. I hate that she's out here. I feel like something's gonna go wrong, maybe wrong enough we can't put it back. I don't want to keep going without her, I don't know if I could. If she catches a bullet, I don't know what the hell I'm gonna do. It can't be her.

"One more," she murmurs, catching my eyes. "One more and it's over and then we get to rest."

"Yeah," I mutter, pulling her hand to my lips and kissing the heel of her palm.

It's quiet until we hit Boylan Road. Sure as shit, there's Saviors here. They're setting up walkers and a roadblock right where Dwight said it was gonna be. I'll be damned. He didn't sell us out after all. We all crouch down low, waiting on Carol's signal. She raises a hand, counting down. Five… four… three… two… one… she closes her fist and we fire, the dozen or so Saviors dropping to the ground.

It's cake. We've been doing this shit so long, it's fucking  _ easy. _ I still don't know if that's a good thing or not. We scurry from the trees, picking through the bodies and dispatching the walkers. I watch Adie thrust her knife into one of the dead ones, blood splattering down her arm, and wonder idly if the blood affects the baby. Fetus, she's calling it. Fetus Dixon. It's almost funny.

"Hey!"

Fuck, we missed one.

"Hey, hey! I give up! I give… I'm done! I'm done!"

It don't matter what he is. Morgan slits his throat and he really is done.

"Good people," Ezekiel blurts. "Found something on our quarry."

"What is it?" Michonne questions.

"A list and another map," he announces, eyes darting back and forth over the page in his hand. "And what appear to be other facts."

"What?" Adie demands, snatching the map from the King only to have Rick snatch it from her half a second later.

"They're linin' up Saviors on the Old Mill Road," he sighs. "That's where Negan'll be."

"We have to get to Negan before they figure out what happened here," Carol points out.

"Maggie," Rick hisses into the long range radio we'd brought with us.

"I'm here."

"It's time," he tells her. "It was a trap. So we're changin' the plan."

*Adrienne's POV*

Dwight tried to sell us out. Gave us bullshit information and for what? To get back into Negan's good graces? Why? What could he  _ possibly _ have to gain? Still, we're ready for this. We knew it was a possibility. Still, I'm pissed. Instead of doing this in teams, we're all going together. It's gonna take all of us to take 'em all down. One fell swoop.

"You want to keep these people safe," Jesus blurts, eyeing Morgan, as we march our way through the giant field adjacent to Old Mill Road. "And you think you need to kill other people to do that. That's not exactly safe for you, which ultimately may not be safe for the people you're trying to keep safe."

"Jesus, shut up," I sigh wearily. "You're givin' the man a complex."

"It's a conundrum," he says brightly, patting my back. "Or it's not. But you can stop people without killing them. I mean, you almost stopped me. I have a simple proposal. Something to try," he lifts Morgan's stick into the air, tapping the sharpened end. "This end for the dead," he taps the blunt, less lethal end. "And this end for the living. And things  _ will  _ get better."

"Jesus," Carol says, watching the man lope forward to the head of our little pack. "I'm startin' to like that guy."

"He grows on you," I admit, grinning despite myself. "Like a benevolent fungus."

"Oh, Jesus," Rosita sighs, something sharp and fearful in her tone stopping us all in our tracks.

I follow her gaze, taking in the massive herd roving about miles and miles away. There's gotta be thousands of them, more even than the quarry.

"Holy damn," Jerry blurts. "You ever seen one that big?"

"No," Rick mutters, squinting into the distance. "Things are changin'. Let's go."

"How much further?" Daryl asks.

"We grow closer," Ezekiel announces. "Yonder, over the ridge."

"Oh, great," I sigh. "Another hill."

Daryl places a hand on the small of my back, guiding me forward as the terrain begins to incline beneath our feet.

*Daryl's POV*

Adie looks exhausted and that scares me. She was an athlete when she was younger, did every sport under the fucking sun and she was damn good. She was  _ built _ for strenuous physical activity, relishes in it. She likes to push her body to the limit and then push some more. We've walked longer distances, made harder trips, and she did all that like it's nothing. And she's tired. The sooner we end this and get our ass home, the better.

We're working our way through a small thicket of skeletal aspens when a sound I ain't never thought we'd hear again cuts through the air, bouncing around the open space, ricocheting off itself. The whistles. They spotted us. I don't know how, but they did. They knew we were coming. We're all whirling around, desperately searching for any sign of the Saviors, but it's no good. It's impossible to tell out here. We ain't gonna see them until Negan's damn good and ready.

"Well,  _ damn, _ Rick."

Speak of the devil. His voice sounds like it's coming from a dozen different directions, like he's got speakers set up all around us and we still can't see shit.

"Look at that. Fucked again. Fucked so  _ very _ hard. I ambushed your ambush with an even  _ bigger _ ambush."

"How 'bout you step out and face us?" Rick snarls.

"Oh, I am everywhere, Rick. Some more bullhorns, more walkies. Pick a direction to run. See how you do. Make it  _ fun _ for all of us. Guess what else I did? I brought you some of your old friends. You remember your old buddy, Eugene? Well, he is the person that made today possible. Same goes for Dwighty boy, here. In case you were wonderin', he didn't ream you on purpose. No, he is just a, a gutless nothin' that fuckin' sucks at life, and now he gets to stand up here and watch you all die, and he's gonna live with that. Gabriel, well… he's gotta go, too."

The sound of a gun cocking is amplified and projected. I angle myself in front of Adie, all of us still slowly circling in place. Where the fuck are they?

"We are cleanin' house today, Rick. And then… there's you. It never had to be a fight. You just had to accept how things are. So… here we go. Congratulations, Rick. Three! Two!"

"There!" Adie hisses, wheeling around and aiming at the line of Saviors now visible at the top of the ridge.

"One!"

*Adrienne's POV*

They misfired.  _ All _ of 'em. At least half the Saviors dropped to the ground and even though I'd accepted we were dead the moment they appeared up on that ridge, even though I was so sure… we're not. We're not dead and we still have a chance. We can beat 'em.

"Now!" Rick hollers, and we surge forward, tearing up the hill towards what's left of Negan's army.

Somehow in the chaos, bullets flying around us, Maggie and I have ended up side by side, reaching the top of the hill just in time to see Negan tear off in the opposite direction of the fight.

"He's running!" She roars.

"I got 'im!" I snarl, hurling myself after the man with the bat.

He doesn't get to live.

*Daryl's POV*

"Don't shoot!" One of the girl Saviors begs, hands in the air. "Please."

She drops to her knees, some of her buddies following suit.

"We're done," she says. "It's over."

It ain't. It ain't over 'til he's dead. But he's the only one who's gotta die. The only one that matters enough. As long as the rest of 'em stay out of the way, they can live. But they ain't us.

"Rick!" Maggie shrieks breathlessly, suddenly materializing from behind one of the Savior's cars. "Rick! He's got, he's got Adie."

*Adrienne's POV*

"Little Red!"

I crack my eyes open just enough to see Negan's smug little grin looming over me. Where the fuck are we? It's cold and it smells like sweat and… dog food. He hit me in the head. Son of a bitch, he knocked me out. I sit up slowly, eyes adjusting to the near dark, peering around the room. Only it's not actually a room. It's a box. Concrete walls with a large metal door hanging slightly ajar, what little light there is filtering through from the hallway beyond.

"I knew I'd get you back at my place one of these days," Negan chuckles mirthlessly. "Of course, I didn't think I'd have to conk you over the head to do it, but what can I say, Red? You were goin'  _ ape shit. _ I don't hit women…  _ usually. _ But… well, hell, the way you were goin', you were gonna get us both killed if I didn't shut that shit down."

They're alive. They have to be. If he'd killed them all, if we'd lost the fight, I wouldn't be breathing right now. He'd have no reason not to kill me. I'm insurance. I'm not dead yet.

"Now, I know you're probably wonderin' when we're gonna get down to business, get rid of some of this fuckin' tension drivin' us both crazy, and  _ believe me, _ I would  _ love _ to," he continues, leering at me. "But a nutless little sack of shit birdy told me you got yourself a bun in the oven, and I gotta be honest… you havin' a mini  _ Daryl _ cookin' in your guts? Well, I'm just not that into you anymore. So… what do you think I should do with you?"

"Go to hell," I hiss.

"Your people really suck, you know that? It didn't have to go down like this, it really didn't. You know that, right? Before your old pal Eugene  _ royally _ fucked up my day, we were just gonna kill you all and move on. Keep on savin' people, keep  _ building _ something. But now a whole lot of my people are dead, my workers are…" he whistles, tossing a phantom ball into the air and pretending to hit it with his bat. "Outta the stadium. All because  _ Rick _ couldn't get with the program. So… how are we gonna fix this? Because I'm willin' to bet Rick the Prick's on his way here right now, and I'm willin' to  _ bet _ he's ready to do whatever the hell it takes to make sure I don't have to kill you."

"When they get-"

"Ts, ts, tssss…" he chides. "Interrupting me  _ again. _ You people just don't seem to be pickin' up the course material here. You push and you push and you fuckin'  _ push _ some more… and you're still lookin' at me like I'm the bad guy. I'm not. And because I'm not the bad guy and because I don't  _ want _ to kill you, I am gonna give Rick  _ one more shot. _ See, I don't have any workers now. Your people killed an  _ ass load _ of my people and without people, without  _ workers? _ It all falls apart. You didn't want to produce for me from the comfort of your own place, fought me  _ every  _ step of the goddamn way… so now you're gonna work here. You're gonna help me fix this place up with some brand new windows and doors and a goddamn  _ welcome mat  _ and we are gonna be one big, happy, dysfunctional,  _ functional _ fuckin' family, with Christmas cards and all that shit, and then maybe,  _ if _ you try a little, I'll let Daryl outta his box every once in a while to see his kid.  _ Probably. _ "

"Do you  _ ever _ get tired of hearin' yourself talk?" I demand.

"Nope!" He chuckles, his grip on that damn bat loosening just a little.

Just enough.

*Daryl's POV*

"She's going to be fine," Jesus says, for what's gotta be the trillionth fucking time.  "She's tough."

Jesus, Carol, Maggie, Rick, Michonne and me. That's who we got. Six of us. Rosita, Morgan, Ezekiel, the rest of 'em, they're rounding up the Saviors who surrendered, securing them back at the Hilltop. They needed the numbers.

"She  _ is, _ " Rick agrees. "She is."

Tough don't fucking matter and we all know it. Not one little bit. We're camped out inside the old parking structure just beyond the sanctuary, just  _ waiting. _ I feel like I'm gonna go crazy, like I'm gonna lose my shit. I swear to god, it's like my bones are screaming. I need to see her, she has to be okay, nothin' matters anymore if she ain't  _ okay. _ But we gotta wait til it's dark. We don't know if his workers are in there and Maggie says she only saw three other Saviors escape with Negan, but we don't know how many are in there. We don't know where she is, we don't know  _ shit, _ and the wait is killing me.

But if we move in too soon, if he's got people watching and we're spotted… he could kill her. Last time I couldn't wait shit out, he killed Glenn. Nothing matters if she don't walk out of that place alive. Carol takes my hand in hers and I ain't sure if she's shaking or if it's me, but her grip on my fingers keeps me just sane enough I can ignore my screaming bones, ignore the terror, for just a little longer. I can't do it for me, but I can do it for Adie.

*Adrienne's POV*

"Son of a  _ bitch! _ "

He's coming. I didn't hit him hard enough to kill him and he's  _ coming. _ Shit, shit, shit! He'd let his guard down just enough, just for a second… that's all I needed. I'd lunged for him, knocked that damn bat out of his hands, and swung both feet into the air, kicking his smug fucking smirk off his face. He wasn't expecting it and that is the  _ only _ reason I got out of that room alive. With his bat.

"Little Red…"

His voice is echoing through the hallways, like he's right behind me, and if he can't hear my boots on the floor, surely,  _ surely, _ he can hear my freight train heart trying to beat its way out of my chest. This place is like a fucking maze. Still, I tighten my grip on the bat and tear through a doorway marked stairs. He'll catch me if I'm not smart about this and I know he's gonna think I hightailed it outside. I just need to buy some time, even just a few minutes. If there's another stairwell up here on the other side of the building, I could get out of here alive.

This floor isn't as hard to navigate as the other. The hallway is a simple square lined with rooms around a block of more rooms, big rooms that look like mini apartments from the little I can see tearing past the few open doors. I round a corner, certain there's gotta be a door at the end of this hallway for another stairwell, and stop in my tracks. There's a savior up here, standing guard at a set of double doors in the middle of the block. He's not armed. He's not armed but my armor is gone, the only thing protecting my  _ baby _ is gone. I can't rush him without risking my baby. I won't.

I stumble backwards around the corner, thanking whoever the fuck is out there I hadn't been seen. If there's a god out there, it seems to be on my side for once. I heel toe my way back down the hallway, hugging the wall. I need to get into that room. If Negan's got a guard there, there's gotta be something worth guarding. Guns. That's the armory, I'm sure of it. I slip into one of the tiny apartments, closing the door behind me. There's gotta be something… I tear across the room and yank open the cabinets above the counter in the kitchenette.

Bingo.

I clutch the glass between my chest and forearm, careful not to drop it while I ease the door back open and peer into the hallway beyond. Clear. I open the door a bit wider and, steeling myself, hurl the glass at the wall on the other side. I pull the door mostly closed, squinting through the tiniest crack as the Savior from around the corner comes into view, stopping to stare at the glittering shards of glass adorning the floor. His back is turned. Now or never.

I hurl myself from the room and swing, bringing Negan's bat down on the back of the Savior's skull hard enough to feel the bones in my arm quake at the impact. It's nauseating, but I do it again. And again. And all I can see is an eyeball rolling around outside the socket, a headless body that was supposed to be mine. I can hear the broken screams of a widow, the sick squelch of battered flesh, and Negan  _ laughing. _

I have to stop. He's dead. I can't look at the body, not without seeing that night all over again, so I take the bloody bat and run back around the corner to those double doors. I need weapons.

*Daryl's POV*

Something's wrong, I can feel it. We're moving, we're finally fucking  _ doing  _ something, but it feels too late. We split into pairs to search the place after breaking in and realizing the workers are gone. It's just Negan and a handful of his buddies left, maybe just the three Maggie saw. They ain't a threat unless they see us first. I think I know where she's gonna be and I lead Carol through the place as quick as I can and still be quiet, right to the hallway with the boxes. 

One of 'em's open.

"There's blood," Carol murmurs.

I see it. But I also see half a bloody boot print and I know that tread. She ran outta here first, the print's dry. The drops of blood trailing them prints are still dark, more recent.

"C'mon," I hiss.

She was alive when she left the box and that ain't her blood.

*Adrienne's POV*

"Stay back!" I snarl, hefting the bat in front of me.

This is  _ not _ an arsenal. His wives, minus Shelly, are all still here, still in elegant little black dresses, hiding in this elegant little cage with their champagne and their fancy fucking cheeses. It's so ludicrous I don't know if I should laugh or cry.

"Shh," one of the wives, a redhead, soothes me. "We're not gonna hurt you. I'm Frankie. Are you Adrienne?"

How does she know my name and why isn't she afraid of me? She's looking at me like she feels sorry for me, a weird mix of sympathy and sadness on her face. I'm holding a bloody bat, for Christ's sake. I'm not here to make friends, certainly not with a pack of bitches who  _ chose _ to be here cause it's easy. She moves closer to me, hand outstretched, and she might just be trying to calm me but she could also be going for the bat and I can't get out of here without it.

"Don't touch me!" I hiss. "I'm leavin' and if any of you try to stop me, I will kill you. Just let me go."

Frankie's hand drops to her side and she backs off, none of them moving to stop me as I back out of the room and into the hallway.

"Wait!" A tiny, soft-spoken blonde blurts. "I… I wanna come with you."

"Amber, are you  _ insane? _ " One of the others snaps. "The bitch is crazy, let her go."

"I'm not… I'm not waitin' around for him to come back," Amber insists, squaring her shoulders. "There's nothin' left here… maybe Mark got out with the rest of them. Maybe my family-" her voice cracks, tears welling in her eyes. "I'm  _ not  _ stayin' here."

"Me neither," the dark haired wife beside Frankie announces.

Jesus Christ.

"Fine," I sigh. "But if this is a trick-"

"You'll kill us," Frankie fills in, smirking. "We know. I'm in."

"Do you know where he is?" Amber demands.

I shake my head.

"All I know is he's not up here," I admit.

"Yet," Frankie sighs. "Okay, Amber, you go with Adrienne. Take her to the back stairwell and get out of here. Tanya and I will go back the way you came and distract him. We'll try and keep him coming our way. We'll meet you out there when it's done."

"Why are you helpin'?" I demand.

"We want Negan dead," Tanya says simply.

I don't know if I believe her. But I don't think I have another choice, not now they've seen me here. They're not gonna kill me, if they were they'd've done it already. I might be the one holding the bat, but there's five of them and one of me. I have to trust them, at least for now.

"Let's go."

I point at the doorway, gesturing for them to go first. I'm not stupid enough to turn my back on these girls and they're not stupid enough to question me, saying their goodbyes to the two wives staying behind and filing out the door. Once we're in the hallway, I direct them back the way I came. Back to the headless Savior around the corner. If they weren't afraid of me before, they are now. I didn't mean to look, I really didn't, but I found my eyes pulled towards the body anyway. Somehow, everything from the shoulders down being intact makes it that much more heinous and my stomach lurches at the sight, sending what little I'd eaten at breakfast spewing onto the floor.

"Are you sick?" Amber questions.

"I'm pregnant," I mutter weakly, wiping my mouth on the back of my hand.

Morning sickness is a fucking lie. It's all day sickness and there is no relief when you finally puke. You just feel like puking again. This is bullshit, Fetus.

"Oh, my god, congratulations," Frankie blurts.

I just stare at her until she realizes the stupidity of her statement. We're not friends and now is not the fucking time, anyway. Not to mention the fact we might not actually get out of this shithole alive. If they actually help me,  _ if  _ they don't fuck this up… then maybe we can chit chat. But probably not. Still, right now we have a common enemy and the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Or at least that's what they say. So we split up, Tanya and Frankie heading back down the stairs, Amber leading me around the block to a second stairwell.

Something about Amber reminds me of Beth. There's something sweet about her, soft like Beth was. She's glancing over her shoulder at me every so often while we descend the stairs, concern in her eyes. She's not afraid of me. She's  _ worried _ about me. When I heard about the wives, I pictured selfish young women just sitting around drinking their lives away while the people they love suffered, but maybe I had it wrong. It's sad what people will do when they don't feel like there are any other options.

My heart abruptly lodges itself in my throat when a shrill shriek pierces the air, and I stumble over the bottom step.

"It's okay," Amber whispers when a second woman screams. "It's just Tanya and Frankie."

"I didn't realize that's what they meant by distractin' him," I mutter, pushing the door at the bottom of the stairs open.

"What the hell?"

Fuck.

*Daryl's POV*

"Daryl?"

The screams belong to Frankie and Tanya, two of Negan's wives that ain't all bad. Frankie's staring at me like she's seeing a ghost or some shit, she and Tanya ushering me and Carol into one of the stairwells.

"How many of you are here?" Tanya hisses.

"Too many for you to handle," Rick announces, he and Michonne appearing seemingly out of thin air, guns drawn and pressed to the backs of the wives' skulls. "Where is she?"

"She's with Amber," Frankie says flatly, not particularly concerned with Rick's gun on her. "They should've made it outside already. Where's Negan?"

"We ain't seen him," I snarl. "Which way?"

"Up the stairs," Tanya instructs. "Go straight at the top and make a left at the end of the hallway, down-"

She's cut off by the sound of a single gunshot. My heart plummets. It can't be her. It can't be, it… she has to be alive. Nothing else matters.

"Show us!" Michonne hisses.

Frankie and Tanya don't hesitate and the six of us tear up the stairs.

*Adrienne's POV*

I should've known there'd be a Savior guarding the exit.

"Look out!"

Amber's body slams into mine a split second before the shot rings out. She crumples to the dirt and I lunge for the man, swinging the bat at his face before he's managed to get another round in the chamber. I hit him again and keep hitting him until he falls to the ground, then lift my foot and bring the heel of my boot down on his skull as hard as I can, bile rising in my throat at the sickening crunch of breaking bones.

"Amber," I whimper, dropping to my knees beside her.

She's already gone. This girl knew me for five minutes and she threw herself in front of a bullet for me,  _ died _ protecting  _ me. _ Why would she do that?

"Well, shit."

Negan emerges from the shadow of a cube van parked at the edge of the lot. Fuck. He figured me out, beat me at my own game. He must've gotten out here, realized I never did, and decided to just wait me out.

"Little Red, that is a  _ big _ fuckin' no no."

I'm sure he's gearing up for what's sure to be another rousing speech on manners and the new world order. I'm not sticking around to find out. I snatch the bat from the ground and, no other option, run back inside. He saw Amber, he knows about the wives. I can't go back upstairs, I'm sure he's just steps behind me. I tear through the door behind the staircase and fly down the hallway, through another door, and another, not really paying attention to where I'm going.

I just need to run. I sprint through the place, eventually ending up on a metal staircase in what I think is the middle of the building. Abandoned tables and chairs, cots with no bedding... this is where the workers stayed. It has to be. Two more shots go off and they're right behind me. He's gaining on me, he's close, he's too close and my  _ baby... _

I hurl myself over the railing, dropping down to the floor below, and, going against every instinct I have, I scurry beneath the stairs, flatten myself against the cold concrete wall… and hide.


	101. I'm Gon' Love You Forever, Mrs. Dixon

**Chapter 101**

Someone's coming. No, two someones, making their slow way through the room. The metal staircase creaks and groans under their weight. I tighten my grip on the bat, trying to will my thundering heart to slide back down my throat and settle where it belongs. It refuses, frantically pounding against the hollow between my collar bones. Lori used to worry if she was worrying then Judy was worrying, too, and I stroke my belly in the hopes it's enough to soothe Fetus or maybe just because it soothes me.

They're on the stairs just above me now and it's time. I don't think there's a chance in hell I'm gonna get outta this, but I have to try and I'm not ready, I'm  _ not _ ready to go, but If I'm dying, I'm dying with my boots on and I'm taking at least one of those bastards with me. I'm taking Negan. I spring from beneath the stairs, bat held high.

"Adie!"

*Daryl's POV*

Negan's dead. It don't seem real, but he's dead as dead gets, shot and crumpled on the ground near another Savior and that Amber girl. Frankie and Tanya are both sobbing, on their knees beside their dead friend, and it might be sad if Adie wasn't still missing but she ain't here and I can't think of anything else.

Them shells belong to one of our guns. Adie didn't do this, she couldn't have. She don't have a gun. Her boot prints are here, but it don't look like she ran for the road. It looks like she went back inside, but why the hell would she do that? It don't matter. I'm gonna find her and she's gonna be just fine.

*Adrienne's POV*

Maggie.

It's Maggie and Jesus. They're here, they're here and I'm not gonna die. Not today. I almost killed Jesus, the bat was within an inch of his head. Too close. I can't fight like this anymore, I can't do it, I can't be out here  _ anymore. _

"Negan's comin', he's gonna-"

"He's not gonna do anythin'," Maggie assures me. "I got him. He's dead."

He's dead. He's  _ dead. _ I drop the bloody bat to the floor, breath coming in great shuddering waves. He's finally gone. He's not gonna hurt me, he's not gonna touch anyone I love ever again and we're okay. We're okay.

"I'm sorry," I sob, allowing Maggie to wrap me in her arms. "I'm sorry, I didn't, I didn't mean to. I didn't…"

I trail off, finally succumbing to the tears that have been threatening to spill over since I woke up in this fucking hole. I thought I was dead. I thought I was dead and my baby would die with me and then a little piece of Daryl might die, too, and he matters more than I do, and this was too close, it was  _ too fucking close. _ Wait,  _ Daryl. _ Where is he? Oh, my god, what if he's gone?

"Daryl?" I sob into Maggie's neck. "Where's Daryl? Is he-"

"Adie?"

"He's fine," Jesus chuckles, watching amusedly as Daryl practically vaults over the railing to get to me.

Maggie steps aside, releasing me into Daryl's arms. He gathers me into him, holding me against his chest, pressing his lips to the top of my head, tears slipping from his eyes and disappearing into my hair. It's over. We're okay, we're all okay. We're going home.

**Prologue**

*Six and a half very,  _ very _ long months later*

"Where is he?" I snarl.

This baby is coming with or without him. Siddiq has become  _ well _ acquainted with my anatomy, having announced I was fully dilated approximately an hour and a half ago, every second of which has felt like a decade each, and I'm pushing, I swear I am, but he's stubborn like his daddy and refusing to vacate the fucking premises. Daryl and Rick went on a run that was supposed to be quick, like every other run  _ ever, _ and they're not back yet. They left yesterday morning and I went into labor two hours later.

"He'll be here," Maggie assures me, patting baby Hershel's back and swaying back and forth. "Just keep pushin', your body knows what to do."

"Keep breathing, sweetie." Carol encourages, seemingly impervious to the death grip I have on her hand. "Like we practiced, hee hee hoooo."

"If I hear one more person say  _ hee hoo _ I'm gonna beat their ass," I snap.

"I don't think you will," Michonne chuckles from somewhere behind my head. "At least not until that baby's out."

"He was supposed to be- ah,  _ Christ! _ "

Whatever I was gonna say is cut short when another contraction tears through me, leaving me breathless.

"Push!" Carol, Maggie, Michonne, and Siddiq holler in unison.

"I  _ am _ pushin'!" I snarl, gritting my teeth and bearing down. "I'm never lettin' him touch me again, I swear to god, I'm not."

"Yeah, right," Michonne scoffs. "We heard you a couple nights ago."

"That was to induce labor!" I shriek, bearing down on another contraction.

The pressure is ungodly, I swear I'm attempting to birth the fucking Lincoln Memorial. It's been over 24 hours. Maggie's labor didn't last nearly this long and I enjoyed that a whole hell of a lot more than I'm enjoying this. Siddiq has assured me many times it's quite normal to have a longer labor. I have assured him he won't survive another night if he tells me this is quite normal one more time.

"Oh my god,  _ Carol! _ " I shriek, the next contraction leaving me shaking and dizzy. "I- arghhh! I can't do this! I can't do this!"

"Yes, you can!" Michonne promises, smoothing my hair back and dabbing at my clammy forehead with a damp cloth.

"Just keep pushin', Adie," Carol soothes. "You can do this."

There's a commotion from somewhere outside the infirmary, Daryl storming through the door and damn near sprinting to my bedside.

"Where were you?!" I hiss through gritted teeth, snatching his hand when he reaches me.

"How's she doin'?" He questions breathlessly, eyeing Carol.

"I'm  _ right here _ !" I snarl, bearing down and hee hoo-ing my way through yet another contraction.

"She's fine," Carol smirks.

"I can see the head," Siddiq announces calmly. "Just need one or two more big pushes, Adie."

"What can I do?" Daryl questions helplessly.

"You can wash up," Maggie suggests. "You can't deliver your baby with walker guts all over your hands."

I don't think I've ever seen Daryl Dixon this scared of anything, his face suddenly slack, eyes wide while he considers the idea of yanking his spawn from my body. I might feel sympathetic if said spawn wasn't currently still perfectly at home in there. He shakes his head, eyes narrowing determinedly when another scream tears itself from my throat, and washes his hands in the basin near the door.

"Okay, Adie," Siddiq murmurs, stepping aside so Daryl can take his place between my knees. "Just one more push, all right?"

He prattles on, bestowing instructions upon Daryl, who doesn't fully appear to be listening. He's staring in horror between my legs and it's almost funny because I imagine it looks similar to a giant peach forcing itself through a miniature donut hole, which is actually hilarious when it's not happening to me. I'm about to open my mouth to tell this to the audience at my bedside when my muscles contract just one more time. I screw my eyes shut, bearing down with everything I've got in me, and when the blood stops rushing past my eardrums I hear it.

His tiny cries are the most beautiful thing I've ever heard in my life and when I open my eyes, there he is, tiny and screaming and  _ perfect. _

"I told you you could do it," Carol breathes, watching a teary eyed Daryl lay our baby on my chest.

He sinks into the chair at my bedside, resting his head on my shoulder, his eyes never leaving our son.

*Daryl's POV*

Theodore James Dixon. I can't stop looking at him. He's gonna have Adie's hair. He's already got reddish fluff all over the top of his head and even though it's so soft, it's so  _ fucking  _ soft, I'm terrified to touch it 'cause what if I hurt him?

"Hey," Rick murmurs, stepping into the infirmary, smiling softly when his eyes land on Adie's sleeping form.

"Hey," I whisper. "You wanna hold him?"

Rick nods, tearing up just a little when I gently place Theo's impossibly tiny body into his arms. He grins down at the sleeping baby and pride swells in my chest. I have a wife and a son and how the fuck did I even get here? I don't think I've ever been this happy before.

"It's insane, isn't it?" Rick says softly, eyeing me.

"Mhmm," I grunt, eyeing Adie.

She's down for the count, at least for a little while. Twenty seven hours of labor will do that to you, I guess. Her curls are falling across her face, her mouth open slightly, chest rising and falling with her breath, and she's never looked more beautiful to me than she does right this very moment. I wonder if she feels it, too. That swell when she looks at our son, the overwhelming  _ holy shit, we did that. _

"When…" Rick clears his throat. "When Carl was born, all I could think about was how… how I'd do anything to keep him safe. It was like my whole world was just… this boy is gonna change your life, Daryl. I can't explain it, but there's nothin' like bein' a father. He's gonna drive you crazy and piss you off and…" he chuckles, shaking his head and sniffling. "And he's gonna look at you like you have all the answers and then when he's older and realizes you  _ don't _ know it all… it's gonna be shitty for a while, but then… then you get to watch him start figurin' it out on his own. That's when you know you did somethin'  _ right. _ "

He sighs, a sad smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he returns my baby to my arms, claps me on the shoulder and sees himself out. I drop my gaze to my son, still in shock something so perfect has anything to do with me. I'm gonna do right by him. I ain't never gonna let nothin' hurt him. I'm gonna make him proud to be a Dixon.

Adie stirs, sleepy eyes fluttering open, barely alert, her hands searching for whatever they've lost.

"Daryl?" She murmurs.

"I'm right here," I assure her, laying Theo onto her chest. "We're right here."

She nods to herself, her eyes almost immediately closed again as she leans forward, touching the tip of her nose to Theo's head and inhaling his scent, and she just makes me  _ full. _

"I'm gon' love you forever, Mrs. Dixon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end! Or is it?
> 
> Okay so what has happened on my journey with Adie throughout these 101 (holy shit!) chapters is I've realized I'm not ready for the story to end. I love Adie and I want nothing more than to make her suffer through a bunch of other bullshit so I can fix the suffering later, make sense? Hahaha! So I'm writing a sequel of sorts. This ending will serve as an alternate, happy little fluff ball ending. The sequel will pick up at the final showdown with the Saviors and will explore how the story changes if Rick got to Negan first.
> 
> If you are reading this, you have presumably slogged your way through every single chapter of this fic and I just want to say a HUGE thank you to you, dear reader. Thank you for liking my story enough to read all the way to the end, and thank you to anyone who left kudos and/or comments, the support means the world to me! And please... join Adie in Just Some Redneck Asshole 2: What The Hell Now?
> 
> (That will not be the title, but I feel like it would actually be somewhat appropriate due to the amount of misery I plan on dumping upon her -insert evil maniacal cackle-)


	102. One Hundred Two

This is just a quick update to let you all know the sequel is up and in progress! I forgot to do that when I posted, I'm sorry. Again, thank you all so much for taking the time to read this story. Please know it means the absolute world to me!


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